


By Different Paths to the Same Place

by Ook



Category: Captain America, Iron Man (Movies), X Men: First Class (2011)
Genre: Alternative Universe- Still have powers, Always punch Nazis in the Face, Author should stop, Bigotry and prejudice from nasty people, Cerebro, Child Abuse, Don't think about the timeline too closely., Erik vs H/C, Gratituous Jane Austen reference, Kinkmeme response, Medical Experimentation, Telepathic violence, alternative history, impossible technologies of the past, just stop, not just tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/pseuds/Ook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU mash up of Captain America, XM:FC and Iron Man.</p><p>A collection of ficlets in which the author sees to it that Erik Lensherr is rescued by Captain America, thus altering events in X Men: First Class, and moving the events of Iron Man into the 1980s or 90s. Because otherwise the author can’t get baby!Tony  playing with young!Magneto. <br/>Author was pretty new to this writing thing when she wrote this. Also didn't do much research. Also also, no bedroom scenes. Sorry about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I  
 _Discovery_

It’s Bucky who finds the kid.  
They move on the small outpost camp in grey pre dawn light. They’re following rumours, whispers of a strange Doktor Schmidt, and experiments. It quickly becomes clear, though, that they’ve come to the wrong address. Hydra doesn’t live here. None of the prisoners are POWs, either- they’re all civilians. Were civilians. When he sees the labs he freezes. Bucky feels- all of them feel- sick. These were _people_ , for chrissake, before the Nazi butchers got their hands on them. What kind of people could do this? He staggers away, trying not to recall what happened before Steve came and got him out. How can it be _allowed_? 

That’s why he hears it, Bucky realises, later. Outside, away from the main building, sounds travel better. He hears a child’s stifled sob. A voice mutters quietly in German. At least, he thinks it’s German. It’s coming from a small wooden hut, off to the side. The door’s not locked. He checks his gun, and moves in, fast. The air inside reeks of stale sweat and urine. A kid is strapped to a table- strapped down hard. He looks worse than Steve used to, before Dr Erskine worked his one time only miracle. There’s at least five buckles Bucky can see, and the straps are thick, heavy leather. They must think this kid’s Popeye- or maybe Bluto. His eyes fix on Bucky like he’s the answer to a prayer, or a dream.

The man standing over the kid is holding something weird. Like a scalpel, or a knife, but glass. It glistens, wet, and red, and Bucky realises the asshole has been cutting on the kid. Little lines are bleeding all along one arm. Neat little lines, like doodles or decorations. Outside the shooting and shouting have begun. The kid’s eerily quiet.  
“Hey, asshole! Step away from the kid. Right now!” The man’s face hardens, immediately. He backs away from the table, obediently, hands spread wide. Light flashes on the wet glass implement in his right hand. He backs away- and keeps on backing, out of the other door. Bucky swears, thinks about following him, looks at the bleeding kid, and swears again.

He ought to go after the scientist; but he just can’t leave anyone in a place like this. Not after what happened to him. He grins at the kid, trying to forget about labs, and experiments. The kid keeps gazing at Bucky with huge eyes, like he’s not really sure he’s real. The leather is stiff, and the buckles are weirdly warped, like they’ve been in a fire, or under heavy pressure. But there’s a scalpel on the lab bench, and it cuts through the leather just fine.  
Outside, things are pretty much over. They’ve just the getting away with it left to do. The guards are all down, not moving. If there were any living prisoners; apart from the kid, they’ve long since left. The main buildings are on fire. That’s a sign that won’t be ignored. Cap and the rest of the guys are pulling back to the pickup site.

“Come on kid; let’s get you out of here.” He holds out a hand, and the kid crawls off the table towards him. He’s staggering, shoeless and desperate but determined. Bucky looks at the red footprints he’s leaving and wants to break something. Someone. The kid’s knees give out just then, so Bucky wraps an arm around him and hauls away. Kid clings like an octopus. Steadily, they back out the door. 

II  
 _Hope_

Erik stares with wide eyes at everything in the new army camp. All the different soldiers, in their different uniforms- and not a single swastika or skull badge among them. The medical staff on board the plane treated his injuries like they belonged to someone who can feel pain. They’ve fed him, found him clothes and shoes. Some of the soldiers wave at him or ruffle his shaved head as they press past. He realises he is shivering, and forces his hands up to his mouth to muffle any noise he might have made. No one here knows what he can do. What he is. No one here wants to cage him, hurt him, _count to three_. He listens to the languages spoken, and he can’t hear a single word of German. Here, he’s not a lab rat. His rescuer- he said his name to Erik but the flight was very noisy- looks at him, and Erik freezes. He saw the lab. He saw Doktor Schmidt. What if he guesses? 

Something taps his arm, and he whirls. There is a giant staring at him. A blonde, blue eyed giant, straight out of some SS recruitment dream. Why can’t he stop shaking? The giant is wearing blue, and smiling. Erik tilts towards his rescuer, in fright, and is astonished to feel the man put a reassuring hand on his back. No one reassures Erik. No one is supposed to care what he feels, as long as he can do what the Doktor wants. He knows he should try to be strong. It’s very dangerous to look weak, or hurt, but he can’t stop. He can feel the metal bench they’re sitting on shaking along with him, and prays they don’t realise why. The hand on his back is now two arms, holding him close, holding him safe. Erik hides his face in his rescuer’s chest for a long time. No one jeers, no one laughs.

His rescuer and the tall stranger are having a conversation over his head. That’s good. Too much attention is dangerous. His arm is tapped again, and this time he looks. Kaugummi. The blue giant is offering him chewing gum. And smiling. He doesn’t seem to want Erik to do anything except try the gum. Timidly, Erik puts his hand out, takes the candy. No one takes it away from him. Besides him, his rescuer takes a piece as well. He looks at the stranger- and really, he’d never make it on an SS poster. His eyes are too kind, his face too open and honest. Also, who wears a star on their chest like that?  
“ _D-ddanke_. Zank-yu.”  
“Welcome. I’m Steve.” He taps his chest, and says it again “Steve.” Cocks his head. Erik swallows.  
“Bucky.” Says his rescuer, tapping his own chest. 

They both look at him. Erik blinks back.  
They are both waiting to hear his name, he realises.  
“I-ich –“ He stops, coughs, starts again. _Englische_ , they only speak _englische._  
“Erik. My _namen ist_ \- is Erik.”  
“Hello, Erik. It’s good to meet you.” They both smile at him. Erik chews his gum, and smiles back.No one has asked him what he was doing in the Doktor’s clutches, and he won’t tell if they do. Erik is sure they mean well towards him, but he doesn’t know if that would change if they found out. He’s had enough of being an experiment. He’s told them how he got there, sort of- the _Aktion_ that caught his family, and that he’s probably the only survivor.  
They haven’t asked him any more than that, and his age. He thinks he’s fifteen, he needs to double check the date; Schmidt wasn’t interested in birthdays.  
Erik begins to consider hope. 

III  
 _Revelation_

It’s an accident, how they find out. Erik has been careful, but after a few days where no one is testing him, he begins to relax a little. It’s not just that no one is hurting him- no one else is being hurt either. They let him eat and sleep as much as he wants, and leave him to his own devices a lot. The nurse dresses his hurts as carefully as if he matters, and helps him wash. When the stash of leftovers he’s been hoarding gets thrown out, Steve finds him some real military rations to keep, that won’t rot or go off. He looks sad, but he doesn’t explain why. Erik is pleased. He can’t think why someone who’s obviously eaten well all his life, to be so big and strong, understands hunger so well. Bucky goes quiet for an hour, and then drags him out to play ball with the rest of the soldiers, determinedly.

Steve’s not allowed to join in, unless everyone else is on the other team, but Erik and Bucky don’t like ganging up on one person; even if he is Captain America. Also, he always wins. So Steve just sits and watches; shouting encouragement and score points, or possibly random numbers, while he sketches. No one has explained the rules to Erik. He’s not sure there **are** any. Bucky has just lost the ball to a man in a bowler hat when Erik spots something. There’s a jeep careering about; it looks like one of the soldiers is teaching another to drive. Steve is lying flat, possibly asleep. The jeep is going to hit him; the driver can’t see properly through the windscreen, and is having trouble steering. It speeds up, despite Erik’s yell of warning. It keeps coming forwards. Erik can see it, in his mind’s eye, running over Steve’s head. He panics.

Erik throws up a hand, fingers spread wide as he calls the metal to him. He can’t do anything fancy, like hit the brakes or twist the steering wheel. But the body of the jeep is mostly metal. He braces himself, and pulls. The car slides towards him. It’s heavy. It hurts. But it misses Steve’s head. The driver is staring at Erik. He snaps out of his exhausted daze, and realises. Any minute now, they will put two and two together and then, **and then** -  
Erik turns on his heel and flees.

IV 

_Safe_

Erik hurries into the medical hut, where he’s been sleeping. He grabs his treasures from their hiding place; the coin, the rations, a water bottle. He wraps them in a blanket, and leaves again. He can’t run now, it’s too obvious. Better to hide, until dark and run then. He can coax the fence apart and twist it up again behind him, make his own gate. There’s an empty barracks nearby, so he dashes into it, just as the distant shouting becomes recognisable as his name. They have worked it out. He shakes his head. He’s not going back. Erik will die before he is used again for his powers. He drops to the dusty floor, slides under a cot. It’s metal, as he hoped. He spreads himself out flat, grabbing onto the bed frame with his hands and his feet and his power. 

It works. He is spread-eagled against the bottom of the bed; to a casual look, he’s invisible. Even if someone bends to look at the floor, they won’t see him unless they tilt the bed against the wall. They’re not Gestapo, Erik thinks, they won’t search that hard. He hopes. He wishes he hadn’t had to display his monstrous gift. He likes the soldiers here; he doesn’t want to see them transformed into hunters. But Steve, it had been worth it for Steve.Time passes. His breathing and his heartbeat slow. Outside, the yelling of the soldiers dies down. He’d think they’d given up, but he can hear the doors opening and closing, the hurried questions. They’re still searching. His eyes sting. He closes them, and opens them again, staring fiercely at the floor. Crying is noise; he knows better than **that**. The door to the hut opens. Someone is walking in. Erik freezes again, tries to breathe as shallowly as possible. The person doesn’t seem to be searching very hard. The boots thud on the floor as the bed above him creaks. He glances at the boots, recognises them. Steve’s uniform boots. 

Captain America is lying on the bed. Erik closes his eyes. When Steve speaks, it’s quietly, and seemingly aimed at the empty air  
“That was a pretty neat thing you did there, Erik.” Erik doesn’t say anything. “Nobody’s angry with you, you know. Whatever you did, you didn’t mean it bad. I can see that. The Colonel can see that.” Erik is silent, even though he knows Steve knows he’s there. He _must._ Steve clears his throat, maybe scratches his head. “Got a lot of folks worked up about you.” Erik wishes he could move. The silence lengthens “Couple of science folk who’d be real interested in talking to you.” Erik is sure they would. “Or... is that the problem?” Desperately, Erik swallows, finds his voice. Steve is kind. If he pleads… maybe he’ll let him go. Pretend he couldn’t find him.

“ _Bitte! Bitte_. Do not tell. Do **not**!” Steve gets up, sharply, then bends, lifts the bed- and Erik- in one hand. His eyes widen as he sees Erik stuck to the underside. “Huh. Really neat trick.” He smiles. Erik doesn’t see it. He begs, frantically.  
“Please, _Kaptin_ Steve, please don’t. Please, let me go.” Steve frowns, puzzled  
“Let you go? Kid, you’re not a prisoner.” Then his eyes widen in awful comprehension. “Please tell me you didn’t think we were holding you prisoner? Who’s been frightening you?” Erik slides down the bed to huddle against the wall.  
“No. No one. But… but you didn’t know. What I can do.” He gestures, spreading his hand out again. Steve nods.  
“Why should that change anything? Is that what happened before? Before we... found you?”

 _“Ja.”_  
“You didn’t hurt anyone. Not even the jeep.”  
“Not this time.” Says Erik, bleakly.  
“You hurt someone before?” Erik closes his eyes. Nods.  
“Who? How?”  
“ _Mein_ \- m- my mother.”  
“Your Mom? How? Was it an accident?”  
“The Doktor, he- he put a coin on the desk. He said, he said: _Move the coin, I will count to three_. I couldn’t move it in time. So he counted, and then he shot her. In the head. I couldn’t move it in time, I couldn’t… It was my fault.”  
“ **Jesus**.” Steve says, fervently.

His vision’s blurry again. He scrubs at his eyes. Stupid, weeping for someone he got killed.  
“Hey. Hey, now.” Steve continues, firm and gentle “Your Mom… That was **not** your fault, kiddo, never your fault.”  
“Then I wrecked his office. And he said that pain made me strong, made my powers grow. So he hurt me. Often. Then you all came, and I got away and no-one knew-“ Erik is babbling now, he knows. He can’t stop talking as he pours it all out; what Herr Schmidt had done, what he’d wanted Erik to do, to be.  
At some point, Steve slides down the wall, to sit next to him, bootless feet spread out in front of them. Slowly Erik unfurls from his tight, terrified curl, until they’re both sitting leaning against the wall whilst Erik talks himself hoarse. At some point, Steve carefully curls an arm around Erik’s skinny shoulders. Erik lets him.  
Finally, he runs out of words. There is silence, a kind silence, for some time. Then Steve speaks.

“Erik. Listen to me. I get why you’re frightened. Believe me, I understand that. It’s not gonna happen again.”  
“You don’t understand! You’ve…. You’re never weak.” Erik protests, frantic. Steve smiles, crookedly.  
“Oh, you think so, son? Guess you don’t know that much about me, huh?”  
He continues talking, telling Erik all about Steve’s own experiences with weakness. With scientists, both the good kind and the bad. Erik listens. Steve tells Erik that he will not be hurt again. That he is safe, now. Slowly, slowly he comes to believe him. No one has made him leave the base , or talk to the scientists yet, either. Some of them had wanted him to go to hospital, or the USA, but that’s all. No one has caged him, no one has picked up a scalpel yet. Steve won’t let them. Steve says he’s seen too much of it. 

Erik wants to be safe. Safe is the base, is Bucky calling him _kiddo_ , is Steve sneaking him extra food. Safe is Captain America. The other soldiers don’t say anything, but when the doctor wanted to examine Erik again, they all stood around having an impromptu weapons check. The doctor doesn’t write anything down. Bucky threatened Doktor Schmidt over him. Steve is. Well, he’s Captain America. He’s good, and strong, and he looks out for Erik like a little brother. 

Erik thinks that if he has to put on a uniform, to stay near them, to be safe, he will. 

V 

_Rejection_

There are shouts and explosions all around them as the Commandos deal with the Hydras defending the tiny airstrip. People are dying. Bullets shrieks past him, the metal calling Erik to move, to think, to act. He watches, as Cap throws a Hydra soldier at two more, knocking them all down. He grips Bucky’s knife- his knife, now. Waits.The fanatical Doktor Schmidt glances at him. Cocks his head, curious at the sight of skinny civilian boy on a battlefield. Erik tries to glare back at him. This Herr Doktor Schmidt is not his Doktor Schmidt. He still wants to hurt him. This Schmidt hates Erik's _Kaptain Amerika_ , wants to kill him. The others too. He made Bucky- into an experiment. Made him **bleed**. That means he is Cap’s prey. So Erik waits, crouching, for their confrontation. It comes soon, Cap facing the Nazi down with shield and courage.

Schmidt sneers at them all. “You bring children to your war, now, Captain? How civilised.” Cap doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes flicking to Erik’s in reassurance. Erik doesn’t waste time being angry at being called a child. He hasn’t been one since the other doctor and the coin.  
“Your colleague Schmidt had already involved him!” Captain Amerika’s outrage is genuine, Erik realises. And it all is for him. Oh.  
“Ah, you must be a gifted young man indeed, to be one of my cousin’s interests.”  
 _Mein Gott_. He knows. He is related to- Erik wants to vomit. To flee. But he promised Bucky and so he remains where he is. He will not leave anyone alone with mad Doktors. Especially Steve. Even when he begins speaking in German, as if for Erik’s ears alone. He doesn’t know how good Steve is with languages.

“Can I not interest you in another choice, Herr-?” Here he pauses, clearly waiting for Erik to supply his name. Erik doesn’t need Cap’s growled warning to avoid doing anything so stupid. Erik’s voice is frozen, anyway. “You see, soon, now, the world will receive it’s proper order. Surely you wish to be one of the masters?” His voice is quieter. Perhaps he thinks it sounds coaxing. Be a Master? One of the master race? The battle sounds have faded away. It seems a terrible thing, to be offered a choice between master and slave. Between hurting and being hurt. Captain America seems to be waiting on his response. Erik can’t speak. He can’t think. He can’t- _Three_ \- his memory whispers. _I will count to three-_ He looks at the symbols he sees everywhere- the swastika and the hydra. And then he knows. 

Erik will never, _never_ join these filthy beasts, these so-special Doktors with their knives and their lies. Erik chooses for himself, for his mother- for all the countless others. The ones judged only fit to be herded into the ghettoes, into camps, onto trains, into fires. He has to answer, make his Kaptain and this Doktor know how utterly he rejects this new world order, this master race, but he has no words. His tongue is still huge and clumsy in his mouth. Erik shakes his head. No. Pulls up his dirty sleeve. Turns his arm so the world can see the number they stamped on him before. Schmidt shouldn’t require a further explanation. He doesn’t. Like a searchlight, the skull faced man’s attention snaps away from him, and back to Captain America. He doesn’t even take the time to sneer or show his disapproval. Erik is no longer relevant. The two men rush at each other. Erik yanks wildly at bullets as they fly, and is relieved when they all veer past Cap’s shoulder without hitting him.

 

V  
 _Aftermaths_

It’s the statue that convinces him, finally. The smiling, heroic statue that both is and is not Steve. Erik feels Bucky and Steve’s loss as keenly as he once did his mother’s. A fundamental piece of the universe is missing, never to be found. They might not have wanted to be heroes, but to Erik, they were more than heroes. They were his safety. His ability to hope. And they’ve both gone. If only Steve had let him go with them on the last missions. He could have kept the plane from crashing. He could have tried. But they left him behind, and now they’re both dead. Steve’s never going to teach him to draw properly. Bucky was going to let him learn how to field strip a rifle properly. No one is going to teach him anything, he’s just going to be stupid, stupid Erik, the left-behind _dumkopf_ kid. His eyes water, he swipes at them, angrily.  
“Hey, kid.”  
 _“Gut_ … good afternoon, Herr Stark.” Erik is hesitant; he knows Howard Stark, but he’s a hard man to predict or understand.  
“Howard, kid, I told you before. You knew Steve and Bucky- hell, you went on more missions than I did. It’s **Howard** ” 

He’s has discarded the rich playboy air; he’s as solemn as befits a man burying one of his brothers.  
“I didn’t go on the last one.” He’s sullen, now, mumbling his German accented guilt to his feet. Howard narrows his eyes. Time to nip this in the bud. Steve and Bucky would kick his ass if they found out he let the kid blame himself like this.  
“Neither did I.” The kid’s gaze snaps to his face. And he is still a kid, Anthony reminds himself. The war had made ‘em all grow up, but in some ways, Erik is still so very young.  
“But you had your company.”  
“Think that makes a difference? You’re not old enough to shave yet, kid; don’t think it stopped you.”  
“I should have been there. I could have done something.”  
“Yeah. You could have died like they did.” Howard is deliberately harsh- stark, in fact, trying to reach the kid through his clouds of miserable guilt. 

Erik breathes in, shocked. Howard softens his voice, “Hey. I’m not saying you couldn’t have done something. But the Skull knew your abilities. He knew Steve. They were right; you’d have been a huge worry to him, however good you were. After Bucky… he couldn’t risk it. Not on a mission. Steve couldn’t. Do you understand?”  
“ _Ja_ … Yes.” Erik is silent. Anthony lets him consider things awhile. Maybe he got through to the kid. “Now there is no one to worry.” Erik seems almost pleased. Relieved.  
Oh, Christ, no, thinks Howard. Reaches out to touch Erik’s shoulder, carefully. Erik is still so wary of being touched.  
“There’s me.” He says, quiet and deliberate. Erik’s look of surprise is almost comical. “There’s me.”

VI  
 _Introspective_

Howard sighs. It’s been years since Bucky and Steve died, almost as long since Peggy went back to England, fondue-free, and it still seems like yesterday. Maybe it would have been easier if they’d had graves to go with their memorials. This way, it’s more like they vanished somewhere, rather than gone forever. Still seems like they were the best days of his life, with Captain America, and Bucky, and Peggy, however short those days had been. The senators, the army guys looking for a new toy, and other, murkier people had left Erik alone after Howard Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, declared his interest. It hadn’t been hard. Some had been persistent, But Stark knew he was too rich to bribe, too ruthless to threaten, and too damn stubborn to quit covering for Erik when he’d needed it. Cap… Steve would have expected nothing less. He’d steered Erik into college, and through his first hangover. He’d not wanted help with girlfriends, though. Erik didn’t seem interested in… in fondue. Erik was unnervingly grateful to Howard. It hadn’t seemed like much at the time. However much the war had made Howard, it had taken everything from Erik. 

Even Obie Stane had tried sticking his nose in, once, but he’d veered off when Maria shut him down. Ah, Maria. He’d probably have married her even if she hadn’t terrified and entranced him in equal amounts. Maria was very like Peggy, in some ways, hiding her ruthless and vicious competences under a demure and ladylike veneer. And she got on well with Erik. Unlike Obie. Erik was still suspicious of the man, Howard couldn’t figure out why. Probably the war. Schmidt, too. Stuff like that would make anyone wary. Tony changed everything and nothing when he came along. Howard was already used to being a father, as much as Erik would let him. Steve had introduced them; after Steve was gone he’d kept an eye on the boy for his sake. Paid for his education, gave him a place to come back to. 

Despite his early lessons in paternity with Erik, Tony had still been a shock. Tony wasn’t into compromise, apparently and had no idea of the fine art of diplomatic negotiation. His main form of communication to begin with had been yelling until he got what he needed. Now that he could talk he was relying more on charm and cute looks. Clearly he was already capable of a political career, but Howard had to confess he was hoping for more from the boy at some point. When he was out of diapers, maybe. Tony is still at the undiscriminating stage of life, pushing everything and anything he can get his hands on into his mouth.

“Da plane! Frow it again!” “Again, Uncle Erik!”  
Howard Stark considers the young man playing with the toddler, a serious and determined nursemaid, who appears bent on making sure Tony doesn’t hurt himself in his appetite to experience the world. It seems like a full time job.  
“Ready, _Katz?_ One… Two..” The metal planes flick up in the air again, hovering and diving around Tony’s chubby child fingers, always just out of his reach.  
At least Tony can make him smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would the plot of Iron Man have looked like, if Tony had had Uncle Erik looking after him as well as Uncle Obie? How severe is this author’s mental affliction?  
> Are we ready for this?  
> Let’s find out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon character death, Shaw’s unpleasantness, Kurt Makro's violence. Obadiah Stane. Please note that Stane’s various bigotries are in no way representative of the author. Stane is evil. Also fictional.  
> We open with the sixteen year orld Charles Xavier' experiences here .Please don't think about the timelines. _Please._ This is where they start merging.

VII 

_Xavier_

It _will_ work, Charles is sure of it. He has checked with several lawyers (not that they noticed) and with the banks. Whatever legal tricks Kurt has pulled to “administer” his deceased wife’s estate; he can’t avoid having to pay for his stepson’s education now. He’s under no illusions that there’ll be much left for him and Raven to inherit when he’s twenty five. Charles intends to learn as extensively and expensively as he can. Oxford appeals to him; partly because of the reputation, of course, partly because of the distance involved. Kurt doesn’t like travelling, unless he can be completely in control; on cruise ships and plane journeys he can’t be. This driving need for power, for dominance, is what drove him to marry a grieving alcoholic he couldn’t stand for her money. It’s what drove him to brutalise his son… and his stepson. Oxford is half the world away. It’s a start.

He is only sixteen, but with Raven able to play older sister or responsible aunt when necessary, that doesn’t matter. And he knows he can handle the work level. They’ll have a little flat, or house, because he’s so young, of course, and that separation will help his telepathy when he needs peace and quiet.  
Raven has packed and repacked the car for them so many times Charles is no longer sure what she’s included and what’s been sacrificed. He’s thought of influencing her to calm down a little, to stop folding and wrapping and fiddling, but she’s already made him promise not to change her mind, ever. 

Raven found what he had to do to his mother and the servants, to let her in, altogether too frightening. He’s never told her what keeping her safe from the Markos costs him. Raven is a little afraid of him, sadly, as much as she loves him; but Charles is unsurprised. He’s a little afraid of himself, sometimes. His telepathy keeps on growing and throwing out new tricks. Sometimes he wonders if it’ll ever stop developing. If he’ll ever hit his limits, if he _has_ limits, and the thought that he might not exults him as much as it terrifies him. There is so much to learn. His musings are interrupted by an angry yell. Oh dear. Probably Kurt has found out that Cain is not in the house. Charles takes a deep breath, and is glad Raven is safely out in the gardens, out of earshot.

“Xavier!”  
“Yes, sir?” He will not call Kurt anything other than “Sir.” When they were younger, he’d been instructed to call him first Uncle Kurt and later, after the marriage, Father. He never has.   
“Get in here! What’s this Mckenzie’s talking about, you going to college already? To Oxford? You’re sixteen!” _Damn_. Charles had hoped that Kurt wouldn’t find out until after they’d left. He takes a deep breath, and reaches for indifference, numbness. It comes in so useful.  
“I passed the exams earlier in the year. You told me you were only interested in my grades if they dropped below a B-“ Kurt backhands him, casually, into the door. As Charles staggers, Kurt seizes him by the arm, and propels him into the study. He catches himself against his father’s desk, and a flash of memory distracts him. He remembers playing underneath it, driving his truck into his father’s foot over and over, until they laughed.

He’s not laughing now. Neither is Kurt. Kurt is furiously, dangerously angry. One of his pet pawns appears to be staging a revolt. A pawn with a large amount of cash connected to it.  
“You’re not going anywhere unless I say so, boy!”  
“I will. I am.” Charles doesn’t mention Raven, still so vulnerable. Oh, look, he’s pulling off his belt already. Charles feels his lip wanting to curl, even as he notices his hands trembling. Just one more time, he tells himself, before they can leave it all behind. Just one more. Kurt almost never beats him with his own fists. Charles is never sure if that’s because on some level, he guesses about Charles’s abilities, or because he prefers it. 

When the first blow lands, Charles regrets being in shirtsleeves and light trousers. Tweed is so much more effective at softening the impact. Kurt’s going to leave him bleeding this time. He stares at his hands, braced on his father’s desk and endures. He never listens to Kurt when he’s like this. A disjointed rant on the evils of Charles Xavier, the impossibilities of Charles Xavier, and the methods he, Kurt is going to use to break Charles Xavier- they’ve all been here before, so many times. At least Cain isn’t here, and Raven’s out of earshot, so he can yell if he needs to. Being able to scream helps Charles maintain his shields. 

Broadcasting his pain is something he’s been afraid of doing since he was two, and the nanny pricked him with a pin changing his diaper- she dropped him, in surprise, and cried. Then he felt her pain, and his own, and it was much worse. Charles doesn’t like causing pain, so he has to keep his inside. This one is particularly bad, he thinks, dazedly. Kurt must be really annoyed at losing control of him. Or maybe it’s the money it’s going to cost; already paid out of the estate accounts into unreachable English banks. Money means a lot to Kurt, almost as much as alcohol did to his mother before she died. He thinks his stepfather may actually be closer to frothing at the mouth than he ever has been before. Under the pain, Charles struggles not to smile. Kurt can’t stop him. He’s leaving, and he’s never coming back, and his sister is coming with him. They are getting out.

“Stop it, stop it, _STOP IT!_ ”  
A sudden shriek breaks the scene completely. It’s Raven, in from the garden, clutching a bunch of late roses in one hand and the clippers in the other. Kurt drops his belt and stares at her, horrified. He hates her (a drain on the money, another obstacle between him and complete control of the Xavier estates) but, thanks to Charles, the idea of violence to Raven or near her is strangely unthinkable. The pause makes him aware of how badly he hurts. He’s gone from leaning on the desk to being collapsed over it. Raven runs to him, dropping the roses. They scatter, golden as her real eyes, all over the parquet floor. Charles stares at them.   
“What are you doing? What’s going on?” Kurt seems stuck for an answer at first, but then a little cunning light gleams in his eyes.

“Your dear brother is trying to leave us!”  
“What?” Raven seems startled. Charles is, too. Her acting ability’s usually restricted to her face.  
“Yeah, little bookworm’s trying to run off to jolly old England, to Oxford.”  
“Oh no!” cries Raven, apparently distressed. Kurt grins.  
“Leaving you behind, how does that make ya’ feel, Raven?”  
“Charles, how could you?” Raven is actually almost weeping. It’s amazing. Prudently, Charles thinks his own acting abilities aren’t up to much, just now, so he only groans as a reply. He’s finding it a little tricky to straighten up.

“Now both of you; get the he out of my study.” Kurt is pouring himself a whiskey. "Charles, you go on upstairs and think about what you tried to do. Raven, tell Michaels to take a look at him.”   
Raven nods, as she helps Charles out of the study, but she doesn’t take him to his room. Instead she half carries him out to the car and helps him stretch out in the backseat.  
“Idiot!” she hisses fiercely. “Why didn’t you just switch him off for a few minutes? Calmed him down, wiped his mind or something?”  
“I didn’t dare.” He tries not to slur. He can tell from her look she has problems with that explanation. 

“No, really, Raven, he found out, and I was afraid I’d do something permanent, and then we’d never get away.” He can’t tell her shielding takes most of what he can do, when he’s in pain. He doesn’t want her to know.  
“Right. Well, we’re all packed. I’ll stop for a first aid kit once we’re away.” She stamps on the gas and the car engine roars. It sounds like freedom.  
He is going to Oxford, and he’s taking his sister. Charles grins through the pain. Well, right now, technically, she’s taking him. Thank goodness for sisters, Charles thinks, before he passes out.

VIII   
_Too many funerals._

Stane

“Uncle Erik!” Tony’s lip was already trembling, as he flung himself forwards to greet the newest mourner.  
Obadiah Stane fought to keep the sneer he felt from showing. “Uncle Erik” indeed- some pathetic war waif that Howie had picked up and made a pet of, still hanging around Tony like a damn watchdog. Didn’t the brat have a job to get back to? He stared at Erik, and was startled at the strength of the glare Lensherr shot back at him. So the waif still hadn’t forgotten Uncle Obie. _Good._ He blamed the waif for the first cracks in Howie’s trust. He hadn’t said much, only that Stark should make sure he was who he said he was, and offered to help find out. Any friend would have done that. Just made a few jokes about claiming Erik's college fees, or him as a tax deductible, that kind of thing. But Howard had lost his sense of humour in Europe, it seemed like. He didn’t think this Erik had ever had a sense of humour. Typical German.

Suddenly Obie had been on the outside, kept out of the loop. He’d had to wait in Howie’s outer office, for chrissake. And it was all this Erik’s fault, he was sure. He stayed in the US, running the firm, keeping profits high, while Howard and Erik had run about Europe, playing toy soldiers. They’d never joined the army, either, so where did he get off being superior? Well, that was all over now. Howie was dead, rest his soul, and so was dear, sweet, icy Maria. Erik was a government stooge, underpaid and overworked, with any luck. And Tony was still underage. He’d need a guiding hand. Fatherly advice. Pocket money. That kind of thing. Good thing Uncle Obie was looking forwards to helping out Howie’s boy.

_Erik_

“Uncle Erik? What’re you planning on doing next? Uncle Obie says you quit your job with the CIA?”  
“I did, Tony. Don’t worry, I thought I’d move back in for a while. Do some engineering.” Keep an eye on you, he added, to himself. The trails leading to Schmidt were cold, cold and dead as he intended to make the Doktor when he found him. If he’d been there, instead of Prague, rumour chasing, Erik could have saved them. Tried to save them. He blinked away the guilt, refused the tears. Tony was more important than Erik’s feelings. Erik had lost both his parents, too- lost his whole world with them. He knew the anger, the grief, and the guilt that brought. Those left behind were more important than the dead. Howard had taught him about survivor’s guilt- he wasn’t about to forget his teacher now his son needed him.

Both his parents dead in a car crash, and Tony was still so young. He was an impetuous, arrogant, charming genius of a boy; Erik knew Howard had hoped for so much from him and for him. He owed Howard so much; he was glad he could repay some of the debt to his son.  
“Move back in?” Tony seemed hopeful and sullen at once. “I don’t need looking after, I’m in high school. I’m a big boy now. And Jarvis is here.”  
“You don’t need looking after. Sure.” Repeated Erik dryly. “Well, if you don’t, the house does. Jarvis could do with some help. The company does, also.”   
“Oh, the company.” Tony was almost pouting now. “Dad didn’t leave you those shares as a bribe, you know. “

“No. He did it because he trusted me to look after them. “ Erik flicked a glance at Stane, who was busy pretending he couldn’t hear what was being said over the murmur of party talk. Erik pulled Tony close. “I’m not leaving you alone, Katze. Do you understand?”  
“Y-yeah.” Tony bit his lip. “Uncle Obie said I could move in with him, but… I’d rather stay at the house. With Jarvis. With you.” He flushed, clearly unhappy at having to admit such a weakness. Erik wanted to smile. Tony glanced over his shoulder, and stage whispered, hopefully:

“Can you still… you know, still do that thing? With metal?”  
Erik winced. It had been fun when Tony was a baby, but he probably shouldn’t have shown off as often as he had. Howard had always worried for him; metal bending was too attractive to the wrong kind of people, even in the USA. Not that Erik had needed reminding. Having met real ones, Erik knew he wasn’t a hero by nature. Working for the CIA had been as close as he was willing to get to the sort of knight errantry Bucky or Steve had been capable of.  
“Yes.” He admitted finally. He glared at Tony “Can _you_ still keep it a secret?”  
“I swear! Will… will you let me see, sometime? Like when I was , you know, little?”

Erik was about to refuse, but Tony’s face was more alive, more hopeful than he had seen it since he’d arrived back in the US. He sighed. “Maybe. If it is for something useful.”  
“Great! Dad and I were talking, about this battery, he said you’d have to help, and –“  
Erik let Tony lead them away to his workshop, babbling tech specs at him almost happily. It was good to seem him thinking again, after the numb stillness of the funeral and its aftermaths. And anything that got them out of Obadiah’s eyesight was also good. Erik did not trust Stane. Not with Howard’s company, and not with Howard’s son.

 

IX   
_Changes_

“I’m sorry, Uncle Obie. But I want to take the company completely out of weapons manufacture, as soon as possible. I don’t like the direction we’re going in. Bullets and bombs are one thing, but the chemical stuff?” Tony shakes his head, glancing at Erik out of the corner of his eye. Chemical warfare makes him think of the camps. So Tony thinks about them too. Erik never says, but Tony’s seen the number on Uncle Erik’s arm, and when dad told him not to ask, he went and researched for himself. And threw up. 

He can’t ask Uncle Erik. But he’s heard enough about Bucky, and Captain America, from Erik and from his dad. He knows there was some… bad stuff happened to Erik in the war, way back before he was born. That Captain America got him out of it. He thinks it might have been to do with the neat stuff Erik can do with metal. It’s certainly why Uncle Erik hates guns, and Tony is more than happy to try and shift Stark Industries away from making them. There’s been some funny rumours coming out of the departments recently, too.

Obiadiah can only stare, at the still-young faces confronting him. He refuses the memory of Howie at the same age; just as implacable about something. Howie had been reasonable, rational. Howie had cared about making a profit. Howie had had him, not some dumb Kraut, for backup. Stane regrets the car accident, now.  
“Are you _crazy?_ ” he sputters at last. “They’re making the best profit!” And with the Russians, we’re going to need them all, as many as we can get!”

“I know things are tense, Obie. But I don’t think more missiles are going to help. And I know Dad was always more interested in the non-military engineering.” There’s a bit of a pause as he invokes the ghost of Howard Stark. Tony quirks a grin, “We used to build thing together that was supposed to do more than blow stuff up.” He rubs his chin. Really, his beard is just refusing to co operate and grow in properly. He’ll have to stick with a goatee for a while. Hopefully the girls will find it dashing. Maybe pretty Miss Potts will finally agree to go out to dinner with him.  
“You cannot seriously tell me you’re sitting there and thinking of reneging on our Army contracts because of some kid’s dream!” 

Obie looks like he’s close to an aneurysm. Tony smiles.   
“That’s not what I’m doing. Stark Industries will fulfil all it’s current contracts-“  
“There are only two current for the weapons ware anyway. Ranged missiles and the new bullets.” interjects Erik. He’s doing his best to stay out of the conflict. This is Tony’s show, his first major move to do more than be a figurehead, an heir apparent. He has to win this one alone. And Erik doesn’t like Stane. Stane, he’s pretty sure, hates him. He’s not sure why; possibly he detects Erik’s strangeness, on some level, and sees him as a threat. He’s right to.

Obadiah is sweating now. The departments Tony wants to get rid of are his. They bring in the most money, true, but there’s been one or two… accidents, lately. If they’re shut down, now it’ll look bad for him. Might even be an enquiry- he can’t keep people quiet if they don’t have jobs anyway. And of course, it’ll be harder to… _borrow_ money or equipment for his own projects. Stane _needs_ that money. He needs the equipment. Sometimes you just had to try stuff in private, laws and health and safety be damned. And what’s good for him is good for Stark Industries… and the USA, of course.  
“Yeah.” Tony flicks a grateful glance his way. “I’m not even talking about getting rid of all the military lines, either. Just the offensive ones. There’s some body armour the R&D-“

“I don’t care about body armour- and neither will the damn Ruskies when they come at us! Are you some kind of Commie sympathiser? Is _he?_ ” He gestures at Erik, still sitting quietly across the table. Erik snorts. Tony laughs.  
“The last I heard, the Soviets were calling me a bloated business tyrant, and a debauched princeling. I make money off the backs of the poor workers, grinding the faces of the poor and making them build weapons to kill their Soviet worker brothers. I’m a terrible person, really.” Tony sounds thoughtful. Erik tries to hide a grin.

Stanes flicks that away with a flip of his hand. “And who’s going to buy the factories? Anyone you sell to is already competing with us! I can’t believe you’re willingly handing part of the market directly to our enemies!”  
“I’m not selling them. I’m repurposing. This is a boom time for domestic appliances as well as bombs, Obie.”  
“I _forbid_ it!”  
“Forbid it? Uncle Obie, I own Stark Industries.” Tony’s voice and face harden. “Me. Not you.”   
“The board will never stand for it! You only own sixty percent!”  
“The board will listen to the voters. That’s mostly me. And Erik. And you..”

“And” interrupts Erik, firmly, “You only own 15%, Stane. I own 10% also. And… I vote with Tony on this one.” Stane is speechless.  
“I’m sorry, Uncle Obie. I’d have liked this to be unanimous.” Tony says softly into the silence “But this is how it’s going to be.” Obadiah storms out of the boardroom, almost knocking down Pepper as he goes. He’s furious. He is determined not to let this happen to him. Stark Industries is his, his and Howard’s. Should be his now, but he’d had hopes for Tony, before the German brat got his claws into him, like he’d done with Howard before. Little parasite. He had thought Erik was going to be in the car with Howard, not Maria. With two of her boys gone, Maria would have turned to him soon enough. She’d have… Stark Industries was supposed to be _his_ by now. He’d helped build it. He deserved it. After all, hadn’t he killed for it?

And now it was all to do again.

 

X

 _Man of Iron_ Please do not attempt to rely on super genius scientist tech toys at home. 

“Anthony Stark, get back in that wheelchair, or I’ll let the whole world know your middle name!” Pepper put her hands on her hips. Her employer was grey and blue lipped, yet he was refusing- as always- to take it easy and use a wheelchair at work.  
“’M fine, Pep. Don’t need wheels. M’heart's jus-“ He swayed. Pepper lost her patience. She took three steps towards Tony, reached up to his shoulders and pushed. He swayed alarmingly, then staggered back to sit in his wheelchair, gasping.   
“If your heart was fine, Mr Stark, I wouldn’t have been able to do that.” She looked at him and softened. “Tony, you know it’s only been two months since… since…” She trailed off. 

“Since one of my Dad’s oldest friends tried to kill me and my Uncle so he could get the company?” Tony’s voice was bitter. Pepper sighed, and perched on the edge of his desk.   
“Yes. And if Mr Lensherr hadn’t been there too, you’d have been killed when the car hit the train.”  
“Erik? Like I ever see him around these days. No time for a weakling, I guess.”  
“He’s the reason you’re alive, you know. If he hadn’t been able to get you out of the car in time… who knows what would have happened?”  
“Yeah. I know, Pep. Still have nightmares about it.” His young face twisted into bitter lines, adding to his apparent years by at least a decade. He looked tired, now. Tired and sick. “Sometimes I wish he’d left me, you know? Or left the shrapnel in my heart, or whatever. Maybe he does too, that’s why he’s avoiding me…” he trailed off, staring blankly.

“Tony…” She regarded him worriedly. He was so young. She forgot about that, mostly- his constant pursuit of the women in the office- considerably more charmingly than some men- his hard work in the labs and the boardroom meant people sometimes forgot Tony Stark wasn’t yet twenty years old.   
“Hey. You know I don’t really mean it, Pepper.” He offered her a meaningless grin that was almost a grimace. “Guess being an invalid takes it out of me.” There was a brief silence. “What’s up next on this glorious round of business meetings?”  
“We’ve got the representatives from the English plants- something about worker’s rights?  
“Oh, yeah. Any of them pretty girls?”  
At that point, Pepper was forced to hit him with her files.

 

(A/N Why, yes, I have just referred to Made in Dagenham, even though that means I’m doing even more cruel things to the timeline here. I don’t care. I loved that fi

XI 

_I am Iron Man_

“Tony”  
“…”  
“TONY!”  
“Huh, yeah, what?” Tony jerked in his seat, and then flushed a guilty scarlet as everyone else in the boardroom gazed at him. “I mean, I agree completely with Unc- … with Mr Lensherr.” This did not appear to help the tense atmosphere; and now Erik was glaring at him, too.  
“What I said was that the last factory to be repurposed has brought its first range of domestic appliances to market, Tony.” Oh _balls_. Erik was clearly trying for patience, and equally clearly failing at achieving it. Another board member broke the silence. Tony thanked him, silently.  
“I’m still not sure about these, these, what do you call them? Macro ovens?” Tony snaps himself into business mode, and begins explaining

“That’s microwave and I really think they’re going to be huge. Not just in the army or catering, but in domestic sizes.” Imagine, something that bakes and thaws and boils, at the flick of a switch and in much less time. The girls will love it.” He leant forwards, warming to his theme. “More time for make up, or their children - Stark Appliances will boom.”  
“Well. It’s good to see you’re enthusiastic about this- and it’s good to see you back on your feet. But, Tony, I really have to bring up this new body guard of yours.” All eyes swivelled to the scarlet and gold elephant in the room, a silent man, clad in in body armour from head to toe. It’s smooth lines are marred by the bulky power pack mounted on the back.

“Well, you see, Mr Flynn, after the accidents, after… Stane” He hates having talk about this. His father’s oldest friend tried to murder him repeatedly before disappearing, presumed dead, leaving him wheelchair bound with a damaged heart.  
“Tony Stark, as the face and brains of Stark Industries, has always been well known.” Erik. Thank God for Erik Lensherr. “It only makes sense he should have a bodyguard. Especially as we still don’t have Stane’s body.”  
“He went into a fifty foot deep lake!” Erik’s face indicates that, like Tony, he feels a fifty foot lake was not enough for Stane. There’s another little pause.

“And the armour? It looks like something out of Red Square, for God’s sake!”  
“I designed the armour. Including the colour scheme” puts in Tony, cheerfully. “No-one’s going accuse me of being a communist!”   
The meeting moves on. Eventually, everyone apart from Erik, Tony and the ever-silent Iron Man. Erik breathes out, loudly, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Tony moves to the armour, and knocks on it  
“Happy? You OK in there?”   
“Sure thing, Mr Stark. Only, I don’t understand what all these screens are showing. And some of the lights ain't on.”  
“Oh, don’t worry about that, they’ll only work when I wear the suit. Different power source, right. That’s why you wear the jet pack and I don’t.”

“I still do not see why you have to be so theatrical, Tony” Erik has moved to sit next to Tony. He always sits facing the door, even in a boardroom meeting.  
“Awww, come on, Uncle Erik! Every boy dreams of having a robot best friend! I’m twice as lucky- I got two. You and-“ Erik frowns.  
“The suit is to keep you safe, not to show off in. If it was grey-“  
“It’d be ugly-“ Tony is pouting. Actually pouting.

Happy decides to play statue again. He’s a wise man, as well as a good driver, and he’s not going to get between the boss and Mr Erik. Not even in the suit. It’s just not a wise thing to do. He might be one of the tiny magic circle that knows who Iron Man really is, and why, but out of all of them- Miss Potts, Dr McCoy and the two men arguing in front of him- Happy knows he’s the most expendable, even if Mr Tony would never let him say so out loud. And Mr Erik is a little scary at times.  
Erik snaps. “You might not gallivant about in it so much. You have to pay attention in meetings, Tony. It’s hard, but you’re so much younger than the board. You’ve got to persuade them. You’re a business man, not a hero. Please.”

“Hey, as Iron Man, I’m able to be both. Plus, important fact! The girls love it.”   
Erik sighs. How does he get himself into these things? First you help your young friend and his pet scientist build a replacement heart. Then you see the power source and realise it could power so much more. And before you know where you are, Hank and Tony have gone from designing perfectly reasonable prototype body armour to making this… flying suit of deadly weaponry and elegant lines.   
He should never have agreed to build it for them. Without his mastery of metal, his sense of the perfect alloy meld, the suit would never have been built. But without the new heart, Tony would have withered and died.

“I should never have agreed to this.”   
“Uncle Erik. Erik.” Tony puts his hands on Erik’s shoulders, to keep him sitting down. “Before you helped me go all tin woodsman, I was sat in a wheelchair half the time. I couldn’t walk more than ten steps. I couldn’t _drink._ ” His face briefly scrunches in horror.  
“Now I get to fly. Pick up chicks. And help people.”  
“Yes, I’m sure no kitten will ever get stuck up a tree again, thanks to you.” Says Erik, dryly.  
“Hey! That earthquake was no kitten!” Tony grins, pleased as punch. 

Erik refrains from mentioned how risky it must have been. His own control over metal is still not strong. He has fine control, thanks to Howard more than Schmidt, but no great strength. The ability to wreck a room, to move a jeep, seems to have left him with the urgency of the war. No great heroism lies in him, Erik is sure. Erik contemplates Tony, who has got out a set of screwdrivers, and is working on the knees of his suit again. Erik thinks he might be close to worrying too much. Tony’s turned him into a mother hen. Engineer, businessman, playboy, hero- Erik should have realised one life would never be enough for Tony, not when he can have more. Erik has protected Tony, helped Tony, and bullied him into recovery and work again, after Stane. Erik can’t begrudge Tony his time playing hero. Tony has his suit. He has his new powered heart. He’s not safe, exactly, for nothing and no where is ever truly safe, but he has more protection than some. The suit spits sparks, Tony curses and then continues twice as hard. Erik looks for the fire extinguisher.

Howard Stark’s son- Erik’s friend – is doing relatively well. Well enough that he can hold his own a boardroom meeting- when he’s not bored- without needing to rely on Erik’s support. The only major threat to his authority there would have been Stane, and. Well. He’s hopefully dead, or too busy regaining the use of his limbs. Something Happy looks a little worried about; now the helmet’s off and Tony has yanked on the wires again. Soon it will be time to think about Schmidt. He’s had feelers out for some time, looking for evidence of ODESSA, tracing ratlines that the swine might have used. There’s been nothing much yet, but it will come. Erik is determined to see justice done. The man killed his mother- killed hundreds of his people, Jews or simply fellow human beings, and he cannot be allowed to live when so many good people, heroes not only to Erik but to the world, are dead. 

 

XII 

_Science- It works!_

“Hello?” The lab was vast, a huge cavernous place. It made Moira nervous. Too much open space for lurkers, for thieves and spies. What were Stark and Lensher building in here? It looked like a place to raise a flock of jet planes. The classical music on the record player in the corner didn’t help the atmosphere at all. Like someone’s trying to freak me out, she thought.  
“Oh, hi! Are you looking for Mr Stark?” A junior-looking techie hurried up to her, pulling at his lab coat in agitation. His hair looked rumpled, and if it hadn’t been for the fact he needed a shave, Moira would have sworn must have gotten lost from a school tour. She hoped Erik had actually paid some attention to what she’d said- he’d been distracted with some vital personal project.

“No, I’m looking for Dr McCoy.” He looked startled; Moira hurried into an explanation. “I used to work with Erik Lensherr. I need some advice, some information. He said Dr McCoy was the best person to speak to.” She hadn’t needed to give him many details, thank the lord. Only what she’d seen with the senator, and the red man. Moira rubbed her forehead, wearily. She had a headache. The techie’s head tilted to an awkward angle that looked painful. Moira felt suspicions rise again. Possibly what she’d learned in that terrifying club was still twitching at her nerves; since then she had been seeing more and more… unusual people. Once her eye would have skimmed over them, since Shaw’s club, they stood out to her. “Can I speak to Dr McCoy?” The techie smiled.

“You can.” The was an awkward pause.  
“I, I I mean, I’m Doctor McCoy” He looked uncertain, now.  
“Oh. I see.” She hadn’t known Stark Industries were in the business of recruiting high schoolers. Still, Erik had told her to speak to him. She trusted Erik’s judgement.   
“I am a doctor, you know- twice.”  
“Twice? When had he started college, kindergarten?”  
“Yes, actually. Bio-chemistry and engineering.  
she knew, as a female CIA agent, the dangers of judging by appearances. How easy it was to miss what was important about a person.

Erik’d been the first person who hadn’t given her a problem about being a woman who wasn’t a secretary at the CIA, and so she trusted her judgement. And he’d been the first person to believe her about the goings-on in the club. Most of the rest seemed to believe she’d been slipped something in her drink- or were far too interested in why she’d gone in wearing only her underwear. Moira had known Erik had some kind of gift. She’d thought it had been just Erik’s… Erik ness when she’d worked with him before. Although that had certainly helped her believe what she was seeing was actually happening, and that it was the people in question’s abilities instead of, oh… invisible technology. Or aliens. Alien invisible technology? The headache was getting worse, no question. The youthful Dr McCoy was staring at her anxiously, like a puppy that wasn’t sure if it was going to be kicked or praised.   
“I’m sorry. I have some questions, and I don’t know where to start.”

“Um. At the beginning?”  
“I was working with my partner, following a US Senator…” Moira begins. She tells the whole, improbable (but not impossible, she reminds herself) story.   
At the end of it, Dr McCoy- Hank, she reminds herself, he asked her to call him Hank- is wide eyed with wonder. Moira breathes out. He believes her. He believes her completely. She makes a note to question her good fortune later. She can see him starting to think furiously. Hank swings away, sharply and paws through a stack of science journals. He seizes one and brings it over, spreading it open on the work bench.  
“Here, look at this.” She looks. An article on genetic mutations in humans. The possibilities. “I think we migt want to talk to this man.  
“Charles Xavier?”  
“Yes. I’ve been… following his work for some time, he’s quite brilliant.” Hank flushed excitedly. “He’s got the most interesting evidence-”  
“He’s also, according to this, based in Oxford. This is urgent, and I can’t get any help from the Agency, haven’t you got anyone at least in the US we can try?”

 

“Jolly old blighty is only a plane ride away, ma’am.” They both whirled then; Hank caught between anger and anxiety at being disturbed. Moira noticed the kid was barely Hank’s age and wearing a suit before she recognised  
“Tony Stark.” He hand dropped away from her gun. Hank breathed a sigh of relief.  
“Hi!” He smirked at her. Had his brave attempt at a goatee been more beardlike, Moira thought she would go as far as to call it a leer.   
“Were you eavesdropping?”  
"No, Ma’am, none of Stark Industries buildings have eaves.” She snorted. Hank had covered his face with one hand. “But I couldn’t help but overhear your need to be in Oxford.”

“Well?”  
“I have a plane. And a pilot’s license. Want to help me try it out?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.   
“Two conditions.”  
“Hey, I’m offering you the ride of your life, how come you get to set the conditions?”  
“Because I have a gun. And am a highly trained CIA agent.”  
“Fair enough. Conditions?”  
“One, you stop trying to flirt.” She said, not unkindly. He blushed. Hank looked back at the magazine.   
“Trying to- that’s not trying that was just-“  
“You stop it, anyway. And two, I need to speak to Erik-“  
“Oh, we’re picking Uncle Erik up on the way. He’s already in Europe.”   
Tony’s smooth front was back. He seemed hugely pleased about that.  
“Seems very convenient. What’s he doing there?”  
“ Some old friend from the war, I think.” Tony shrugged, carelessly. “Now come on. We gotta get out of here before Pepper finds me and makes me go to another meeting!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of the timeline shenanigans are now over. The streams have merged.
> 
> Now to see how Charles responds when Erik makes the first move, and there is no deep, dark water in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, the "Short chapters" idea really began to break down around here; and they just keep getting longer from herein out. I know, I'm very sorry.
> 
> Also, I have only included scenes from any of the films if they're seriuosly different from the canon ones, as, things keep _getting longer_ without my permission.

XIII 

_Somewhere on an airfield close to Oxford._

“Explain to me why we are bothering with this expert of yours? Also, explain to me what you are _still doing here_ , Tony!” Erik was tense. The time on Tony’s plane had been enough to realise that the CIA were after the same man he had been all these years. Suddenly there is not enough time, not enough space. He feels obscurely guilty for having spent so long away from his hunting; even though he had promises and Tony Stark to keep. Tony possesses no special gift like Erik’s. Schmidt- Shaw, now, his name is Shaw he reminds himself- should not be as interested in him. But he is Anthony Stark, CEO, college graduate, and all at such a young age. He is Howard’s son. Tony is far too bright, too important to risk a meeting with Shaw. He has already suffered so much, before he became Iron Man.

Tony, however does not appear to be worried.  
“Hey, Uncle Erik, this is an adventure! You can’t expect me to go back to college and the business and just _leave_ you here!” In the limitlessly optimistic way of the young, he does not fear death. That would frighten Erik, if he allowed himself such weakness. Shaw always took away everything that Erik cared about. He wasn’t going to betray Howard’s trust.  
“This is not an adventure, you young fool! This is dangerous!” Erik fairly snarls.  
“What, talking to some old professor is dangerous now?” Tony’s gaze was wide and almost perfectly innocent. Moira tried to smother a smile. She could tell by Erik’s sudden scowl she hadn’t been entirely successful. Hank was still happily buried in Xavier’s research papers, and totally unaware of any undercurrents. Possibly, thought Erik, deliberately unaware.

“First, he’s not my expert, he’s Hanks.” Says Moira, levelly. “Secondly, I can’t get any support from the CIA through the proper channels. I’m just another hysterical woman who can’t handle being an agent to them.” Tony snorts, apparently at the idea of her being thought hysterical. Erik remains impassive, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat.  
“and thirdly, it genuinely looks like he understands more than any of us do about where… gifts like your come from, and why.  
“Gifts,” says Erik, softly, bitterly. “Not gifts. A curse.” There is a pause.

“Well, I gotta say, Uncle Erik, I think your way with metal is almost as cool as my way with the ladies. Without it I’d probably not be here right now, so I’m definitely a fan. And so is Iron Man.” Tony’s voice is a hair too causal, and his smile isn’t quite right. Still, Erik’s face softens, and his shoulders loosen a little. Moira decides she will not feed Tony his briefcase just yet. The boy’s limitless belief in his own charms gets a little wearing at times, but she knows he’s mostly just having fun when he flirts. With her, anyway. She also knows he knows she carries a gun.  
“Now, what do you say we all get out of my beautiful plane and go and find this mysterious Professor?”

They go.

 

XIV 

_Meeting._  
Charles Xavier, newly a professor, is, for once in his life, almost completely happy. He is also almost completely inebriated; it’s entirely possible, he supposes, the two things _might_ be related. He hopes not. Doesn’t want to end up like poor old mummy- He jerks his train of thought to a halt then, deliberately swallowing more beer instead. The cheerful thoughts of the drunken crowd around him are almost as noisy as their actual cheering. Nothing from beyond their circle leaks through. It’s lovely. Lovely and muffling, like the beer. He drinks again, ignoring Raven’s glance from the bar stool where she’s carefully ensconced, away from the happy, noisy crowd, lovely and safe in the corner. She’s wearing her blonde self tonight; staying safe as his sister, rather than prowling as a stranger, which she sometimes does. In this pub, everyone knows them both, and no one is likely to cause a scene that Terry, barman for the last twenty years, can’t handle. It’s when she goes wandering he worries. Then, it’s all he can do to keep up with her, in his head, make sure she’s fine, wherever she is. 

Raven says he needs looking after more than she does, but Charles knows how unfriendly the world can be. People alone are lovely, amazing, wonderful- crowds are so very often not. Crowds get panicky, turning on each other, or outsiders. He saw during the war, and after, when the hint of a European accent, or immigrant status was enough for suspicion, even of the most desperate of refugees from Hitler’s armies. What would they do to Raven, to him, if they _knew_? Charles has so little that is precious to him, in some ways. He refuses to risk the jewel of them all, his lovely, sometimes blue, shape shifting sister. She came to him when they were both young, and she needed help. Needed him. Charles had never been needed before. He’s always been an accessory, an extra. The after thought. He drinks more beer, listens and nods at shouted congratulations and slurred gossip.

Across the room, Raven’s smile grows brittle.

Suddenly, Charles becomes aware of new minds entering the pub. Sober minds. Serious minds. Searching for, looking, for someone in particular. He tries to shake of the blur of the booze, discreetly, from his mind. It’s something special he can do, just a trick. A useful trick. Charles Xavier has always been fond of tricks. Who are these new people? He listens, with his ears only, at first  
“And which one is he, Hank?”  
“The… the man in the navy cardigan..”  
“The one who’s drunker than Tony got when he discovered your whiskey?”  
“Hey! I was not drunk! I was very… tired. And excited.”  
“You threw up in the workshop.”  
“Jarvis is a vile traitor.”

The conversation makes no sense. He relaxes, slightly, and allows a tendril, just a tendril of thought to flow towards them. He shapes it into a delicate probe, brushing gently across the first mind he perceives. The young man’s mind is darting around. He is half amazed he’s here (why?) half dismayed. The person he’s looking for shouldn’t be here, (who?) in a pub, he should be, should be (where?) Should be in the lab, he reads, in a study somewhere. Then he picks up on the rest of (hank mccoy, doctor hank mccoy)’s thoughts, and stiffens, chilled. They all are looking for a Professor Charles Xavier. They want talk (to him) about mutations. Mutants and danger. 

Charles flicks a warning thought Raven’s way, _(be good be quiet maybe trouble. Youdon'tknowme)_ and finishes his drink, throat working. Walks towards the little group; two men, one woman and a boy, what an odd collection. Surely they can’t be part of anything official?His pulse begins to quicken; he wills himself into focused serenity as he walks. What extraordinary eyes the tallest man has, silver blue and piercing. Staring straight at him. He thinks about hawks and birds of prey. He tucks his hands in his pockets, does his best to look harmless and friendly.

“Hello. I’m Charles Xavier. Were you looking for me?”

 

XV 

_Conversations and conversions._

Erik is still not sure about this new professor type. He doesn’t seem to be like some of the scientists He’s met before. He is sure Charles Xavier is capable of seeing mutants as people, not projects, or they would have walked out of the pub by now. Xavier seems too… childish, full of enthusiasm and optimism to be a genuine threat, but Erik is not so sure he can help his people. He’s like Tony, but worse. Erik watches his rapt face as Moira tells her tale; asks about physical mutations appearing now. He’s certainly sobered up quickly, but Erik thinks he’s still a little under the influence. He has beautiful quick hands, and they fly through the air as he talks with Moira and Hank. Moira is not as star-struck as Hank, but even she looks a little dazzled by the slightly drunken, deliberate charm of the man.

Hank is fascinated. Professor Xavier has been one of his guiding lights, his scientific heroes, and here he is, in a bar, chatting away with him. He has to act like a man of science, not a freak. Working at Stark Industries has been the happiest time of his life. Even if his boss is barely past puberty, he values difference rather than fears it. One day he might even show Tony or Mr Lensherr his feet. He catches himself up, guiltily. Mr Stark sometimes accuses him of secretly being a teenaged girl in disguise; and this air of awe will not help him refute that. Xavier’s smile wavers for a moment; odd. Perhaps he prefers hero worship? But he’s perfectly able to discuss statistics in mutation rates, cell division mechanisms and other minor things, so it can’t be his ego. Can it? Perhaps the drink is affecting him. It’s certainly affecting Hank.

Tony is a little bored. Most of the conversation is stuff he’s heard before, or is about biology and biochemistry. Not that Tony doesn’t understand what they’re talking about, but he prefers more practical applications, when it comes down to it. At least, for the biology parts. He doesn’t particularly want to mutate, himself. He has all he needs in that area.  
There are plenty of girls-and boys- here. Also, in England he’s not underage, when it comes to alcohol. Always a plus. He slides out of his seat- catching Erik’s eye with a nod, and heads for the bar. He pats the suitcase as he passes. Iron Man is never far away. This seems to reassure Erik, and he relaxes a notch, nodding back as Tony wends on his merry way. 

There’s a very pretty blonde on a barstool there; she looks a little older than him, but not too much. And she looks alone. Maybe her date’s not shown? Tony slides onto the stool nexter her, and offers a smile. She smiles back, good.  
“Hi. I’m Tony. Yes, I’m American. Where are you from, if the answer’s not heaven, angel?”  
Now she laughs, but she answers happily enough, so Tony chalks it up to a win.  
“Oh, Tony, I’m no angel. I’m Raven.” She puts her hand out. He shakes it.  
“So. Can I get you a drink?”  
“Sure.” Success!

Charles feels a flurry of amusement from Raven. Good. He doesn’t turn to look at her, worried that the people he’s talking to will spot her, sense their connection, if he does. He has to keep her safe. He promised. The story the shy scientist and the pretty CIA agent are telling him is fascinating, if disturbing. A little like the tallest man, who has not sat down, but stays, leaning against the wall and staring intently. Sometimes at Charles, sometimes at the rest of the room. Charles finds himself thinking, doubtless fancifully, of hawks, and owls, fierce eyed predators with wings and talons. Abruptly, he tilts his head and challenges him- challenges all of them. He can tell they think they’re telling the truth, and he knows he needs to be very careful. He hasn’t dared listen for anything past his first probe- the minds of the two men, Hank, and the taller man, whose name is Erik, although he hasn’t introduced himself, are curiously loud and vivid. Charles knows he’s still not quite sober, and he’s sometimes a little clumsy. He winds all his probes, his mental tendrils back in, letting the general mental noise of the pub muffle his ‘hearing.’ 

“Well, while this is all very interesting, I’m not quite clear on what you need me for?”  
“You- your theories, your research-“ Hank is babbling a little. Erik speaks up.  
“Don’t you realise the implications, Professor? If your researches are correct, if Moira’s evidence is included? Don’t you _see?_ ”  
“See what?” He wishes they hadn’t seen. He hopes he won’t have to wipe their memories. This Shaw sounds very dangerous.  
“A new species is being born. It needs guiding. Shaping. Understanding.” Eriks gaze grows more intent as he moves in to sit down, far too near for Charles’ comfort. 

“Leading? You see yourself as its leader?” His voice is a little sharp. This is too close to the dangerous truth, hoped for and feared, both. Erik smiles, darkly.  
“No. Or at least, only to stop those who wish to mislead us.”  
“Us?”  
“Mutants.”  
“I’m afraid I don’t quite…” He trails off, weakly, staring, as the tall man- Erik, his name is, Erik Lensherr. As the tall man gestures, and the sixpence Charles left on the table… moves. Floats in the air two inches off the table, melts and reforms as a key, as a knife, as a spoon. Charles knows he should shut his mouth, but he can’t.

 _(My, my. How splendid! This is all just amazing, then, isn’t it?)_

He knows they’ve realised his lips haven’t moved by their reactions. Moira goes white, while Hank looks desperately for a notebook. Their shock and, amazingly, fascinated delight, peals like bells through his mind. He smiles, dizzy at the welcome implied. Erik smiles like a gratified shark. His delight, wide and gleaming, sounds like a hunting horn, like triumph. It fairly blazes from him. He turns the silver spoon back into a key. Charles swallows, nervously.


	4. Chapter 4

_Paranoia_

Charles is never paranoid. Being able to read a person’s conscious and unconscious intents and reactions means he knows when people are sincerely out to hurt him or Raven, and when it’s an unfortunate side effect. He therefore thinks, a little ruefully, that he has, perhaps been a little too confident about assuming that is the be all and end all to understanding a person. He doesn’t understand this group at all. A female CIA agent (almost a freak of nature herself), a man who can move metal, a boy genius and a mutant scientist. All sitting around in his and Raven’s tiny flat. Sometimes he wishes he’s never written his thesis into publishable articles, but had joined the Army instead. Thinking of the Army reminds him of Cain, though, so he tries to think about something else. 

Raven. How is he going to keep her safe? She is clearly fascinated by all of them, trying on crushes for size and response, chattering away with Moira about girlish things. At least, he thinks it’s girlish things. The last time he dropped in on their conversation, they were talking about guns, and law making. Still, he worries less about Moira’s influence than he does about Tony Stark’s interest, even if Raven so clearly finds him more amusing than interesting. Charles knows what teenage boys are like, he was one himself not so long ago. Raven hasn’t revealed her gift yet, perhaps afraid to. Charles would love to read her mind and be sure, but she made him promise, long ago, not to do that when they were together. When they’re apart, he doesn’t pry, but he does follow her. Usually he reads someone in the crowd she’s in. If she’s alone he just listens to make sure she is alone, that no other mind is there. But she asked him for privacy, and he does his best to deliver, although she knows sometimes he can’t help it. 

It’s not anything wrong, he knows. One chap at school was a bit too close to his sisters, but this was nothing like that. It’s just, after Kurt, after Cain, it’s hard to break the habit of trying to hide her, keep her safe from a dangerous world. His back still aches, from time to time. Charles shifts, uncomfortable, and then stops, caught under the tall germanic one’s eyes.  
“This Shaw, you say, is dangerous?”  
“Very.”  
“And you say he has mutants working for him?” He turns to Moira.  
“Yes. A woman who turned into diamond, a man who could teleport and another who could generate little whirlwinds.”  
“Shaw was always interested in people with gifts.” interrupts Erik, rubbing his arm, absently. Charles doesn’t have to try to read his mind for clarification, the old pain and fear are pouring off him. He winces, pushing the air in front of his face away from him, instinctively. Erik looks at him, questioningly.

“I’m sorry, but strong emotions or thoughts are much easier to pick up. Think of it as being like a shout.” He continues as he sees Erik’s face darken. “I wonder why they’re working for him, what he gives them.” He does not ask him what he thinks his little group could offer Raven and himself, but he hopes the thought isn’t far away.  
“A place, maybe? Money? Dancing girls?” Tony breaks in, cheerfully “Dancing boys?”  
“And we also wonder.” Said Raven, sharply as Charles flushed, “What you want us for?”  
“A place, maybe? A welcome among your own kind?” Erik echoed Tony’s words deliberately.  
“Not to mention,” said Moira, quietly, “I don’t think Shaw is someone who should be running around free at the moment. He’s not just a historical criminal; he’s a very real threat.” 

Charles nods, reluctantly. He can see their points. Shaw is dangerous; these other… mutants are, too. They need some kind of task force. Fight fire with fire, and all of that. He ignores the point about being welcome; it’s just too tempting to be real, for him. It’s always been just him or just him and Raven.  
.

Erik is a little surprised that they went back to Xavier’s actual apartment, but perhaps they were wary of a trap if they went off familiar ground into a hotel or private lodgings. The conversation has been developing well since the Xaviers agreed to talk in private. He approves of caution. He thinks Xavier might be being overcautious, but- and his gaze moves to the pretty blonde Tony was flirting with, at least until Xavier introduced them all to his sister- if he had someone more like Raven and less like Tony to protect, he’s be more cautious too. It’s not that he thinks Tony needs less protection of course. It’s just Tony won’t let Erik wrap him up in cotton wool. However much he tries. Raven is far more tolerant of her brother’s foible that much is clear.

He can see Charles’s response to the offer of welcome and a purpose- he grows very still. Caution again? Or is he feeling tempted too much? Erik’s seen people behave like this before. Afraid to believe in good things. Afraid to believe in people. He supposes a mind reader, able to pick the tiniest sin out of a man’s mind, might well have reason to be suspicious, but on the other hand, if he was a reader, could he not read Erik’s sincerity? Moira’s hope? Tony’s…? Well, no, better hope he wasn’t reading Tony’s mind, there wasn’t all that much there tonight. Too many pretty girls, and the presence of booze had him distracted; Erik can read those signs well enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is inappropriate toward Raven; Charles outs Hank, and discovers the wonder that is Cerebro.

XVIII 

_Friends_

The hotel Tony Stark’s assistant Pepper organised for them is exactly as Tony likes them. It’s extremely discreet, extremely luxurious, and, of course, extremely expensive. Erik would hate it, but watching the Xavier siblings manoeuvre through it is turning out to be quite the learning experience. Xavier motors through everything with pleasant charm and a sublime confidence in himself. Half the staff (both male and female) are falling over themselves to help him with any of his whims. Raven sits hunched in her brother’s shadow, away from the rest of the group, sullenly silent. It’s easy for Erik to read the fear and resentment in her posture, yet no one else seems to see it. Well, except for Tony. Since Raven flashed into her blue self, in the car- and really, thinks Erik, he has never seen a more spectacular beauty, even if he never once looked below her chin- Tony has been piling on the charm. His real charm, too, not the shallow pick up lines he sometimes uses. He’d gazed at the girl, slack jawed, when a stumble getting out of the car had distracted her enough to turn blue, unfortunately revealing not only her magnificent shape shifting skills but also her magnificent shape. Charles had looked aghast at his baby sister’s nudity.

“I spilled coffee on my dress just before we went to the pub.” Raven had snapped, defensively. There had been an unpleasant silence, as Hank blushed scarlet and Moira and Erik had exchanged a look. Then Tony had stumbled in to the breach  
“Can I just say, you look beautiful when you’re not wearing anything…” Raven gazed at him as if his lost his mind. “Hang on, that came out wrong. You’re even more beautiful when you’re blue? No, wait!” Tony stumbled, tongue tied. At that point, Erik hit him on the head, partly to shut him up, partly on general principles. Charles twitched, but didn’t say anything, avoiding his little sister’s story gaze by staring at his hands.  
“Hey!” Tony protested. Erik stared at him, and he shut up, briefly. The boy is genuinely interested in her, and has been since before she revealed her gift. It can’t be explained away entirely as his desire to atone for putting both his feet in his mouth earlier. Perhaps it’s the little sibling bond? Erik muses to himself as he sips a scotch and watches Xavier try to persuade the universe that he’s fine, they’re fine, that everything is just fine fine fine. 

Hank and Tony converge on the other scientist. At some point Raven declared she was going to bed, and she’s long since left, with Moira. Charles waved an absent hand in farewell. Erik nodded to her and she shot him a sympathetic grin. Erik wishes he could go to bed too, but, alsa, He’s head of the mission. That means Erik’s got three scientist-engineers in full design frenzy to observe and protect; he needs a cigarette and a drink. He makes do with what he has to hand; Scotch and observing the no smoking sign

 

Charles is exhausted. It’s taking practically all he has to ensure no one really remembers him or Raven very well. Raven’s anger and self hatred are gnawing away at his self control as well. Hank is trying to make conversation with him; Charles is afraid he’s being quite rude. Tony is still here, picking about Raven. Normally Charles would be delighted to see Raven making new friends, but Tony seems a trifle… shallow? Superficial? He can’t quite put his finger on it, but he knows he doesn’t like it. Not at all. He sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face. It’s late, and he’s tired. Also, this is a busy hotel, so it’s unlikely he’s going to be able to risk sleeping much, if he wants to wake up without a migraine. The plane tomorrow will doubtless be even worse. Too many anxious minds jammed in a tiny metal container? It’s going to be hell. 

“So, prof, you’re a telepath?” Alarmed, Charles darts a glance around, but no one seems to have heard. Raven turns her head and stares at the wall, or the bland art on the wall.  
“That’s right.” Charles tries for a friendly smile at the young American.   
“Well, you and me and Hank have gotta sit down and compare blueprints and so on. We were working on something, to help locate and reassure other people with gifts like yours and Uncle Erik’s’. Hank thought it might amplify brainwaves to the point they could be sensed, but it didn’t work all that well. Now I’m wondering what it would be like if we switched it to broadcast.” Tony smiles. Behind his eyes, Charles can perceive Tony’s thoughts as they speed along, focused and beautiful. He blinks.

“Broadcast what?”  
“Well, you’re the mind genius, prof. You tell me.” Tony looked as inviting as he could, when the invitee was not an easily impressed girl. Charles sighed, inwardly. Ah. Here it comes. He’d expected a bit more quid pro quo than vague promises to help defeat some nefarious former Nazi, even if they hadn’t said what they’d want from him.  
People always wanted things from you, in Charles’s experience. Sometimes in exchange for other things; which was preferable to those who demanded things from you by perceived right. He held out his hand for the blue prints.

They came with a Dr McCoy attached. The younger scientist has clearly thought long and hard about these designs, and is shyly proud of them.   
“This power source looks unusual. Are you sure it can put out this level of power at this size?”  
“Oh yes, it’s one of Tony’s toys.” Some toy. The amount of predicted current should require an entire generator, not this little battery sized thing. Against his will, Charles feels himself drawn in. The other two are clearly delighted, but he does not sense anything untoward from them. This Cerebro- why has it been named “Brain”? It’s a bit worrying- and it’s implications are simply fascinating. If it could amplfy his powers, who couldn’t he reach? Where could he not get to, as long as there was a mind there?

XIX:   
_Leaving (on a jet plane)_

Charles is very pleasantly surprised by the jet waiting for them at the airport.   
“Somehow, I never imagined you flew here on a private jet.”  
“I hate waiting. And queuing. I know it’s un-British to hate queuing, but I do.”  
“Tony… Are you British?”  
“Nope, but my godmother is.” He smiles as they settle into their (very comfortable) seats. Charles yawns and rubs his eyes. He needs something to keep himself awake, and finds Hank. Hank will do.  
“So, tell me, Dr McCoy, do you find your mutation very useful in your work?  
“My… ah, my… mutation?” Hank stammers, his face gone ghastly and grey. Erik looks up, startled. He hadn’t thought Hank had a gift, apart from being as bright as Tony, if not more so, and considerably more sensible.

“Oh... Oh! I’m sorry.” Now Charles looks very upset indeed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I thought, I, I thought everybody knew, sometimes it’s very hard to keep thoughts out...” He flounders, miserably aware of his faux pas. Erik laughs.   
“And I thought a mind reader would be better at reading people.” Charles flushes. Hank looks terrified. “Calm down, Hank. What is your gift?” Erik is intensely curious now.   
“They’re not a _gift_ , they’re hideous.” Hank spits, bitterly. But he’s tugging his shoes off, and everyone is gazing at his feet. His hairy, horrible feet. Feet that look like a monkey’s, like a gorilla’s. Feet that he’s never wanted anyone to see, to be disgusted by, and now they’re all staring.  
“Opposed thumbs, how marvellous!” murmurs Charles, appreciatively. Hank blinks. That was not the reaction he was expecting.

“Can you do anything with them?” asks Raven, who has gone blue in shock or solidarity.  
Hank looks rueful, but he stands, and then performs a perfect back flip that leaves him dangling from the railing on the ceiling by his feet. Raven stares, blinks, and suddenly there are two mutants dangling. She has shifted her feet to resemble Hanks’. Moira grins, delighted at the sight of them swinging together. Hank starts to smile. Charles blinks at them both, and yawns. He didn’t actually bother going to bed after the other two cried off from their exploration of Cerebro. He wrote some letters, explaining he’d been called away, to the college, and to his landlady, among others. He hopes she wouldn’t notice the implications of the forwarding address he’d left her. 

He yawns again, and thinks he might be able to risk resting a little. When Charles sleeps, his ability to maintain his shields dips. He’s ended up with two-day migraines or flooded with other people’s emotions before if he’s careless about when or how he sleeps, but he is _so_ tired. There are only a few other minds here, in the vast expanse of sky, and they’re all unthreatening. Even Hank’s calming down after no-one was repulsed by his feet. It’s very restful to be close to such a friendly group, for once. Charles closes his eyes. They are not alone. Just for a minute…Trapped in his seat, Erik tries to think of a suitable curse. Xavier is at the end of his row, so if he brushes past him, he’ll probably disturb the professor’s rest.   
“You could just risk waking him up.” Moira is smiling a little as she leans over from the seat in front. Erik finds, to his surprise, he doesn’t want to do that. The bags under the telepath’s eyes have been there a while. Erik had thought he looked strained, almost unwell under the flush the alcohol had put in his cheeks. 

“He‘ll need his rest if he’s going to keep up with Hank and Tony, mind reader or not.” Erik grunts. Quietly. He shoots a look at the sleeping telepath, but Xavier doesn’t stir at the sound of voices.  
“Hank.” Moira repeats, thoughtfully. “You don’t mind he didn’t tell you? Tony told him about your way with metal.”  
“He had to explain how he was able to construct some things.” He says, curtly.   
“Do you mind?” She shakes her head. “I’m more interested in this new plane he’s designing for Tony.”   
No, Erik doesn’t mind. He’s _annoyed_ Hank hadn’t felt safe enough, after working with SI for two years, to show himself off, but he understands. He hid his gift from his rescuers for as long as he could, too. He tells Moira as much, quietly. She smiles, and turns back to her magazine, leaving Erik to his thoughts.

Erik catches himself thinking some people really do look younger asleep, and forces himself to read his book. For once, Goethe fails to hold his interest. Xavier was practically broadcasting his exhaustion before he fell asleep; now he’s radiating a warm and dreamy sleepiness. It’s not entirely unpleasant, Erik supposes, as he yawns, reflexively. He hopes Xavier can contain himself; he doesn’t want the pilots to fall asleep, too… His eyes slip closed, without his permission.

 

XX

_Settling in_

Charles looks at the helmet dangling from rig Hank’s been working on for the past two days. “Cerebro” as Hank calls it, is designed to amplify the brain, in a temporary and hopefully non B movie manner. It seems fascinating. Charles has always been interested in finding his limits and then expanding past them; to do so with his telepathy is a secret dream of his for many years. Not so secret now, he fears. Raven prods the helmet with a blue, scaly finger.  
“I don’t know, Hank, are you _sure_ it’s not going to fry his brains? He hasn’t got many to spare.” She shoots him a worried look. He responds with a reassuring smile. It falters slightly, as she remains blue, but he doesn’t say anything. Not so close to the first calibration runs he’s been pushing Hank over.

They’d had one screaming fight since they’d got to Tony’s palace, even if it had been conducted in hissing whispers. Raven is apparently determined to show Hank, and the world, that there is nothing wrong with being gifted, being different. Something Charles would agree with in the abstract, but he wishes public nudity wasn’t her chosen method. He’d hissed as much, and her eyes had filled with tears, before she flounced out, blue and bare and angry. He would never understand women. Or his sister. He just wanted her to be _safe,_ that was all. 

And preferably, not naked in front of him, or other people. Was that so much to ask? She had refused to talk or think to him for three days. Oddly enough, Tony, least sensitive or tactful member of their little team, had been the one to help out there. He’d sympathised with Raven about over protective siblings and honorary uncles on the plane. Apparently Erik was as smothering- protective, thought Charles, we’re just protective- at times as Raven found him. Tony had also prevailed upon Raven to wear clothes, even if she kept to her blue skin. Not deliberately, but by his complete inability to talk to her face unless the rest of her was covered. His flirting had reached new and desperate levels, complete with inappropriate suggestions- “So if you made yourself look like my girlfriend, I could have the twins experience without the creepy?” had been one hopeful idea. “Could you look like me while we did it?” had been another. Raven had gone purple. Charles had wondered if he needed to do anything. Threatening the boy with the permanent belief that his genitals were absent, or that he was a six year old girl had occurred to him. Fortunately before that had been necessary, Raven had made the connection between her state of dress and Tony’s fixed and drooling stares. 

Now she was still blue more often than not, but she was also clothed. Sometimes in real clothes, sometimes she played about with her shifting abilities. Now Raven was able to believe others found her beautiful without making Charles pray for blindness or removing Tony’s powers of thought. Compromises. Sometimes they were an option.  
“I’m sure Dr McCoy knows enough not to fry my brains, Raven.” Hank looked up from his agitated fiddling over the connections and nodded. Raven, blue or otherwise, tended to strike the shy young scientist with muteness or clumsiness. He had managed to cope with this problem when she had been in her bare phase by talking to her eyebrows, but now she was clothed the problem had become worse. He appeared to be dealing with it at the moment by ferocious concentration on the last little bits of checking Cerebro’s functions.

“Are you sure playing lab rat is what you were hoping for, Xavier? It might not always be fun. I’ve been one, so I know.” Charles jumps. He hadn’t realised Erik was quite so close behind him as all that.   
“Oh, I just live to provide scientific data, Erik. And I trust Hank… and Tony, of course” Charles responds, lightly. He is a little tense, but he’s also fascinated. He steps up to the platform beneath the helmet, and grasps the chill metal rails in front of him. They’re a little low for him, and then they flex, and move under his grasp until they’re perfect. Charles grins. Erik continues working on looking unworried. He’s mostly successful. He has bad associations with labs and human experiments; even when the experimental subject in question is so clearly enthusiastic about the whole thing. Erik concentrates on not finding him adorable. Raven slides up to stand next to him, and he can tell she is worried.  
“Don’t worry.” He tells her. “I can have this thing off his head and in pieces before you can blink, if he so much as winces.”

“You’ve no idea how good he is at hiding pain, though.” She returns, worriedly. He nods, slowly, and he can see her calm, a little. In front of them, the lab rat picks up his helmet.   
“I won’t be asking him if it hurts, I’ll just yank it.” He growls. Raven smiles, teeth flashing bright against her blue, blue skin. Charles puts the helmet on. Hank turns two dials, and flicks a switch. Raven and Erik murmur, quietly. Charles watches him turn Cerebro on. There’s a second where nothing happens. Then…

_**LIGHT.** _

Charles rapidly loses almost all awareness of the lab chamber. Folded close to his heart are the tiny sparks that are Raven, Hank, Erik, Moira and Tony, almost blotted out by the _LIGHT_. He moves beyond, and beyond, and beyond again. He does not want to stop. The _LIGHT_ is almost dazzling; it’s the thought glow of a house, then a city, then a state. He knows with just a little push he could move beyond this again, but he’s distracted by the little sparks in the _LIGHT_. He looks at the closest ones, and he sees… he sees…

Some of them are mutants. More of them are mutants than he might have ever hoped.

The part of Charles that is still in the lab flicks a thought at the machine behind the _LIGHT_ , and the printer starts chattering away with names, impressions, and places. He wants to send more, but the printer is slow. He moves beyond again. The sparks are like fireflies, like stars. There are so many, how can he reach them all? Something nags at him. Charles ignores it, keeps searching. It nags again. He tries to wave it aside. So many… 

Abruptly, the _LIGHT_ disappears. 

Charles cries out, trying to reach for it, and staggers. The railings catch him before he falls. How useful. The helmet is floating beyond him, hovering in the air. He reaches for it and it dodges him. Oh. Someone is shouting. Charles blinks, tries to remember his ears and their uses, and tries to speak.  
“-Damnit turn it OFF, McCoy!” Raven's voice, shrill with fear. Charles shakes himself. Raven isn't supposed to be... why is she frightened? Another voice speaks, in Charles' ear.  
“I’ve got him.” Erik really is standing very close. Ah. Erik is holding him, not the railings.  
“Did I… Was there any usable data?” Charles' voice has gone hoarse, and his nose itches. Charles blinks. Everyone is staring. He rubs his face.  
 _“YES!”_ yells Raven. “You’ve been stuck in it for hours, Hank’s run out of paper!”  
“Oh, yes, Professor, heaps of data.” Says Hank, happily at exactly the same time. Erik snorts.  
“I’m sure we can get more paper.” Tries Charles. “There were so many. I’m sure I could go further with a little more power.”

Erik’s grip on his shoulders tightens.   
“Tony and Hank are going to get more paper and work co-ordinates out of your raw data. “You are going back into the house, with me and Raven, and you are going to eat and lie down until you stop looking like a _warmed over corpse_.” Says Erik, quiet and fierce in his ear. Hank nods, firmly.  
“I’m fine, my friend, I assure you.” Charles' nose tickles again. He represses a sneeze.  
“You realise you were in there for three hours?” demands Raven, worriedly. She knows missing time is a bad sign, for a telepath. For Charles.  
“I… really? It didn’t feel long at all.” Charles rubs his face again, and looks startled when Raven catches his hand  
“Don’t. Your nose is bleeding; you’re rubbing it all over your face.” Oh. Better stop then. Charles tries to take a step, but is knocked off balance by Raven and Erik standing so close, and the sheer weight of affectionate worry for him in the room. 

He’s not used to it from people other than his sister. Erik doesn’t even snort, he simply throws Charles’ limp arm over his shoulder and starts dragging him out of the lab, with Raven’s help.  
“Sorry.” He mumbles. “Legs are a bit useless. You seem to be carrying me, I’m sorry.” Erik doesn’t reply. Neither does Raven. They haul him into the kitchen, and leave him to the tender mercies of Jarvis. Raven tells Jarvis that he, Charles, has skipped both lunch and breakfast today, because his sister is a terrible, merciless woman at heart. Charles vows vengeance when his brain is back online, at least until she comes back with a sponge and washes the nosebleed away. Jarvis provides something delicious and easy to eat. Possibly it's a sandwich. There is also soup, and... other things. The words are very tiring to find.

Erik has disappeared back into the lab. It seems unfair he’s allowed back in, if Charles is not, and he says so. Raven ignores this. Jarvis simply butlers at him and defers to him till Charles agrees to climb into bed for a little lie down in self defence. Everyone obeys to Jarvis. He is a benevolent tyrant. Raven chivvies him off to his bedroom and makes him take off his pants.  
He’s asleep five minutes later, dreaming of crowds of sparks, of numberless mutants, all found, found, _found._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point the author will get over her penchant for hurting Charles and making Erik sort it out, but not any time soon. Sorry.


	6. Chapter 6

XXI

_Alex_

Tony Stark’s house is palatial. Alex likes it. It’s better than any foster place else he’s ever been in, not that that’s hard. Prison wasn’t all that much worse than some of them. Here the beds are soft, the food is fine, and he’s around people who aren’t freaked out by his mutation. Hell, are helping him with it. The bozo and the playboy seem to think he’s the best thing since they got too old to play with their Barbies. They’re forever dragging him into the bunker part of Stark’s workshop and trying new tech outfits on him, for his aim. The Prof’s usually there, too. He’s pretty cool, for an old-acting dude. Isn’t afraid of Alex’s power at all. He’s gotta stop risking himself, though. Sure, having him next to the target focuses Alex’s concentration, but it can’t be safe. It frightens Alex, not that he’d ever admit it. Alex isn’t safe to be around, that’s why he lost Scott. Why he was in solitary when the Professor and Erik came and got him out. Also, Alex is pretty sure, if he ever hurt the Prof, Erik would kill him. No muss, no fuss, just Alex dead.

He’s not quite sure how they managed to get him out of solitary, let alone jail. Maybe the Prof’s mind tricks worked or something neat like that. Or maybe it was Moira. He doesn’t mind Moira, but he doesn’t like the CIA. If they were involved, he’s think it was just jail again, a new kind of work – release program. Like his daddy said, before the guy went missing along with mom and Scott, you can’t go trusting the Feds. Not for anything. And the CIA are Feds, right? Erik’s ok. He doesn’t mess about with lies or fake shit like manners. He just threatens to kill Alex if he’s too annoying. Oh, he doesn’t use words to do it. He just smiles, and maybe moves his hand an inch, and then you know he’s, like, a soldier, or a killer who’s run out of places to hide the bodies, or something. Hank says Erik worked with Captain America during the War. Hank’s a seriously deluded dude, for example about Miss Blue, Raven, but about this, Alex believes him. 

Hank… Hank’s one of those brainy types, the ones who got beat up in school or worse in jail. Except he isn’t, not really. The nerdishness is like a mask. Bozo’s got cool feet, even if he doesn’t like them himself. He can move real fast and punches hard too. Erik insists on sparring and self defence training for all of them, even the Prof, who either falls down a lot and loses, or makes a funny face and then you find you’re punching yourself in the head, and you don’t know why. Hank doesn’t use his brain as weapon, though. So Hank’s ok. Weirdly muttery and stumbly at times, (Thanks, Miss Blue.) but an ok dude. He’s also old enough to buy booze for everyone, not that he needs to in Tony’s mansion. Tony’s a bit strange; it’s like some jerk god crammed a lech, a genius engineer and this company boss man into the body of a teenager and now all of them have to fight it out for who gets to be on top at any momnent. Sometimes you can see the struggle behind his eyes. Mikey, who was in solitary next to him was the same, except _he_ said he was the Archangel Michael, a cop, and sometimes a duck. Made it real entertaining at times. Except Mikey might have been trying to get into solitary for the same reasons Alex did, only he went the playing crazy route, instead of the setting things on fire route. Tony’s ok, and he hardly ever reminds Alex of Scott. Tony’s said he’s set his lawyers to finding Scott in the foster care system, just as he’s set them on the Prof’s step brother; but Alex’ll believe it when he sees Scott walk into the room and not before. 

Angel’s ok, for a very pretty stripper- she’s got the angry flirting down to a T, but Raven keeps an eye on her, and nothing’s gone wrong so far. Alex doesn’t know what Erik and the Prof said to Tony and Sean and Armando, only if was anything like what they said to him, about leaving Angel alone til she found her wings- hah, wings- he’s not surprised everyone’s treating her like a little sister, same as Alex. A little sister who can spit acid. She’s real tight with Darwin, like he knows something ‘bout being a mutant the rest of them don’t. He’d maybe be jealous, but bugging Hank takes up a lot of the free time he gets after training. And Darwin’s a hard dude to read. Maybe it’s just Darwin’s able to adapt, to everything, and that includes people. He gets on ok with Miss Blue, too, and even Moira, who doesn’t scare Alex at all, nope, despite the whole Fed thing.

And Sean is always really calm, and funny to watch when he’s high, which is way too often. Even if the dude has, like nine thousand sisters and cousins and aunts who are always calling him or sending him stuff, Alex can’t hate him. Even if he’s always, always happy, and gets to the last doughnut before Alex does way too often. Sean’s cousin or uncle, or whatever who drove to check on him, met Alex, and clearly he told Sean’s endless family about the sad little group of freaks hiding out, he’s left Sean with, ‘cause now they all get letters and postcards and shit, like they’ve been adopted. It doesn’t totally suck.

 

XXII   
_To Russia, (totally not in love.)_

The army truck is making slow work of the track. The harsh jolting, the uniformed men next to them, all remind Erik of the war, of sitting in the back laughing and joking with Herr Bucky and Kaptin Steve. Not that either man had allowed him to use their titles, most of the time. It had amazed him then, that these two good, kind men, had been willing to befriend him, a weak, freakish inmate and escapee. But they had. They had encouraged his to heal, to find his own strength and to learn compassion. To accept his gift. Now he has learnt of others like him, Erik can do no less for them than was done for him. He will honour those who helped him. He swears it. The truck jolts to a stop. He looks up, but before a query can pass his lips, Xavier answers him, mind to mind. That will never stop being strange, Erik thinks.

 _(New check point. Everyone stay quiet.)_ The soldiers twitch at being addressed inside their heads. Charles’s hand, held at the level of his eyes, never leaves his temples. His gaze remains steady, even when the tailgate is banged down, and Soviet Army soldiers peer inside, suspiciously. Some of their own soldiers reach for their weapons.  
 _(STAY STILL PLEASE)_ Erik catches himself up, willing himself to breathe as everyone freezes. The Soviets glance at the truck, grunt, look at each other and shut it back up. The truck is waved through by another indifferent guard. Everyone in the truck stares at Xavier. Erik notices him hunching down defensively, and touches his knee in reassurance. These are good men, like the Howlin’ Commandos were. They are used to the unusual, and they know Xavier is on their side. He need not fear their reactions. One of the soldiers leans forward. Charles flinches, but the man just claps the professor on the shoulder in clumsy friendship and approval, grinning at him.   
“That was _amazing_ , man.” The others all nod, and the telepath relaxes a little. Erik removes his hand from his knee hastily, before Xavier notices it’s still there. Erik watches Xavier’s shoulders straighten and hopes his approval blends in with the rest of the truck’s appreciation of being got out of a tight spot so seamlessly. Moira flashes them a thumbs-up.

Charles smiles.

 

At first Erik cannot understand what he’s seeing, once they penetrate to the interior of the Soviet manor. A starkly beautiful blonde is sitting on a sofa in her underwear- he thinks it’s underwear- flipping though a book, while an older man is clutching an invisible partner and writhing on the nearby bed. He looks utterly delighted, murmuring sweet nothings at thin air as he gropes, sweatily, at the void. Erik’s seen how men act in the grips of another’s mind, though, thanks to Charles, and so he doesn’t need Xavier’s quick mutter of   
“Illusion!”  
to tell him that the blonde is providing some dream of seduction whilst, apparently, reading Middlemarch. She glances up, and her face twists from startlement into anger. Things start to happen very fast.

 _(WHO_ ) A vast, icy, force is crushing him; demanding who and where and what and why from his mind. _(TELL ME)_ Erik shakes and refuses. He will give away nothing; their own telepath has given (them) elementary shielding lessons.   
_(FEEL)_ Quick as a thought, the mode of attack changes, pressing terrible memories into his mind: _(Ein)_ blood, the star, _(Zwei)_ pain, fear, _(Drei)_ glass blades. _**(EIN!)**_ The coin. _**( (ZWEI!)**_ Loss and death. _**((DREI!)**_ Pain. _**((THE COIN.)**_ Erik howls, clasping his head in his hands as he crashes to his knees next to Xavier, drowning deep in memories. He can’t see the telepath’s eyes narrow as his chin comes up. One hand rises to his temple. The other he places on Erik’s head; possession, benediction or protection? Erik can’t tell, oh he _hurts_ , and oh it all _hurts_ so. He has lost the ability to scream; there is no escape, no air.   
Then-   
Then it doesn’t hurt at all. Something immensely strong has curled itself around his mind, embracing him with a wall of warm, gentle, steely protection. Erik gasps. The wall is mirrored, reflecting all attacks made on him back on their sender. The memories pour away like water, leaving as quickly as they came. He is held fast, as Bucky were holding him again, and all his pain is eased out of his grasp. He finds himself remembering Steve’s shield; how he used it as weapon and defence, making it fly from him and return to him as he chose. He never realised Xavier’s- Charles’s mind was like that.

\----

As soon as Charles enters the room, scrambling after Erik- really the man had such long legs, it was almost as if he did it on purpose- he spots the other telepath. An icy beauty, her mind makes him shudder. She feels like broken ice, like icicles, jagged and dangerous, but brittle. He is fairly sure he is stronger than she is. She flicks a querying probe of pain at him; he brushes aside with barely a thought, and he knows. This Emma Frost is gifted too, but Charles's gifts go deeper. The Russian general shouts in rage. He is fumbling for his trousers and his gun as he wakes from his pleasant dream of adultery and treachery to see armed strangers in the room, and the woman he was touching sitting on the sofa, ten feet away from him. Charles sends him to sleep before he can get to his gun, and he falls off the bed, sprawling on the floor in a ridiculous heap. He won’t wake for hours.

Next to him Erik screams, clutching his head and falling to his knees. She has moved to the easier target, the only conscious non-telepath in the room. Charles glares at her. She smirks, briefly. He rests a hand on Erik’s head, helping the shaking metal bender to lean against him. _(It’s alright, Erik. I’m here. I’ve got you.)_ There’s no verbal response, but he can feel Erik grow calmer as Charles draws his pain-wracked mind up from the frozen and drowning depths Frost drove him into, surrounding Erik with light and air and comfort. Emma’s smirk falters as she realises how easily he has broken her grip on Erik’s mind. She leaps to her feet, but it’s already too late. Charles has moved on her. He locks her into complete stasis, mental and physical. He won’t be able to hold her for long, so he does a quick smash and grab raid on her immediate memories and thoughts, before shutting her down _(SLEEP. SLEEP NOW.)_ She crumples.

Erik swallows heavily, and moves to stand again. He sways and Charles finds his hand has gone out to support him without prior consultation. Amazingly, Erik does not shrug Charles off, accepting the help without a second thought. Charles touches Erik’s mind gently; and finds only wonder at the absence of pain, and gratitude. He does not hate or fear Charles at all, even after this display of telepathy. Charles finds himself wanting to move closer, and pulls his mind back hastily.  
“Are you alright, my friend? I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her before she struck.”  
“I’m fine.” Charles looks doubtful. “I will be fine. What… what did you do?” Erik asks in no little awe as he surveys the two sleeping forms. Charles moves to lay the general out flat, comfortably. He’ll never believe he passed out drunk in his current position, but a little movement and a small suggestion will cover their tracks.

“I shielded you. Then I told her to stop, well, everything, I suppose. Pulled what I could out of her on Shaw’s plans, and knocked her out.” Charles doesn’t mention the way he also soothed away the mental injuries she’d inflicted in Erik’s mind. He doubts Erik wants to know he had more than one telepath inside his head. He touches the Russian general’s head; murmurs   
“Forget my face.” He straightens to look up at Erik, worriedly. “We have to get back.”   
Erik stares at him. Charles is not a very physically threatening man and it’s sometimes hard to remember that under the tweedy, professorial armour is a man with a terrifyingly strong gift. That he can be as ruthless as any soldier, wielding his mind like a sword and shield. He shakes his head, awed. Charles flinches again, and Erik wants to kick himself.  
“Sorry. I don’t mean… I didn’t want to…” Erik waves a hand, awkwardly.  
“No, you’re quite all right, my friend. But we need to get out of here; I believe Shaw is planning something very large.” _Damn_. Charles has his affably vague, smiling face on, the mask Erik thinks he uses to conceal hurt or uncertainty. A poor return for what Charles has done for him today. Whatever Charles did, he didn’t just stop Frost’s attack on Erik’s mind: he wiped away the damages she had inflicted with a thought. With no more than a single thought, he restored Erik to himself. Amazing. 

Erik is astonished at how he’s feeling, right now. Reliving his memories in nightmares has always left him weakened, afraid and in pain. Now he feels… he feels calm. Warm. He does not feel safe, no, not in enemy territory like this, but he feels secure. Unusually so. Well. With someone like Charles Xavier watching his back, how not? He wishes he could tell Charles this, find a way to explain, but Charles is uncomfortable contemplating the implications of his gift. Erik doesn’t know how he knows that, but he does. Erik concentrates on his positive feelings; gratitude and respect. Frost went for him like a striking hawk after a rabbit. He was very lucky Charles was here with him. She would have torn him apart, however strong he thought himself, without his friend along. Some of it must get through, as Charles’s smile grows more genuine as he contemplates the two unconscious bodies.   
“I don’t think we need him, now, but we could benefit from having Miss Frost along. Any suggestions as to how to move her?” Erik grins. He wraps metal from the bed around her unconscious form, binding her and gagging her for good measure, with a gesture. Then he lifts her though his grip on the iron, and they turn to leave. Charles seems agitated, and distracted by the information he extracted from Frost. He’s not really looking where he’s going, instead patting his pockets for a note book or a pencil. Absently, Erik puts a hand out to steer him safely past an open door as they run.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parties and consequences.

_House Party_  
Angel has no idea what these crazy people _want_ from her. What they think she can do for them. How can one poor dancer, winged or not, be of use, when they don’t want her to dance, or anything else? Sure, sure, Lensherr and Xavier won’t want her like that- she can see that as clearly as she can see little Toni-o’s… interest in her, and Alexander’s’, and even the stammering redhead’s. _Men!_ God, even babies like these; they all wanted the one thing. At least when she dances, Angel’s able to sell the dream more often than she has to sell the reality. The doctor, McCoy probably isn’t interested in anything that doesn’t wear a test tube or a laboratory coat, whatever Lady Blue thinks. On the other hand, she can look like anyone wearing anything, so maybe she does know better. Angel wishes she had that skill. It would have made her so much money, in the club, and no one would have known it was her. No danger of meeting an uncle or brother of a friend the wrong side of the stage. Not like-

So it’s difficult, to be with them, talk to them, when her usual tricks and teases don’t work, or aren’t responded to. She blames Xavier. He saw her flirting, just a little, with Alex, and Tony, and Angel could tell he disapproved. Sure, sure, Lady Blue could reassure her he was just stuffy ol’ Charlie, practising to be an old fart before his time, but she heard him talking to the boys. And yeah, maybe he was telling them to respect her, to be polite, but Angel heard what he was threatening them with. Guy’s a mind reader, he was gonna make think all sorts of stuff. She was a bit scared, truth to tell, but now she’s given up waiting for him to come threaten her the same way. Sure, it is nice, just to talk and know they’ll listen even if she doesn’t show her cleavage, that she can get by without flashing her ass. She’s not ashamed of it, anymore than she’s ashamed of her wings. Angel enjoys spitting acid or dripping honey as she likes. Still. A party should be a little fun. She can see Tony wants to forget his Uncle Erik’s away and at risk. The others could do with a bit of loosening up. They all need something to lift their spirits. Something that’ll liven them all up. And Angel? This is what she does, it’s who she is. She knows exactly what to do now.

\---  
Tony Stark is having a great time. The house hasn’t been this full in years. So, technically, he’s not special, like the guys Uncle Erik and soon-to–be Uncle Charles have been finding, but he’s no fool. For a start, he’s pretty sure Charles will be his uncle sooner rather than later, the way Erik’s been around him. Tony’s just waiting for Erik to notice; hopefully when he, Tony, has a camera to hand. Tony likes Charles. For a guy whose secondary mutation is clearly wearing tweed and making it look good, he’s OK. He’ll do, for Uncle Erik. He’s close to his sister, takes care of her- and Raven is awesome in her own, blue, right. He seems to have more, well, people skills, than Erik, although that’s not actually difficult, Tony knows. _Rocks_ have better people skills than Uncle Erik. Before they left to have cool, dangerous adventures in Russia, the last thing Erik had said to him was a command to cut down on the partying. It’s unfair, he hasn’t been to a real party since before they found Xavier and his pretty blue sister. It also leaves him at a loose end; which he hates. He can’t lock himself in the lab and lose himself to the beauty of designing stuff while the house has guests. Jarvis would eviscerate him, politely. But he has to do something to pass the time waiting for Uncle Erik and friends to come back safe- and they will, they will. Xavier _promised_.

Clearly, everyone in the mansion needs to get to know each other better. Alcohol has always helped Tony do this in the past; he’s sure he can wrangle a few drinks and snacks out of Jarvis. But it won’t be a party, he promises the older man. Not really. Just a little gathering. That’s all. Jarvis looks like he doesn’t believe him; but he’s going to be away visiting his cousins, the Coulsons, because their son just got a new job or something. He knows he can’t do much more than hope the older mutants will keep Tony in line. The party’s going pretty well, Tony thinks. He’s still too sober, but that can be fixed. Not that he ever gets really drunk; he knows how to hold his liquor, even if he is technically still underage. Thanks to Unc- thanks to Obiadiah Stane’s sublime disregard for drinking laws, of course. Obie had always said he could hold his drink like his dad. 

Angel’s offering to show how she learnt to pour drinks at the bar she worked at. People are laughing, starting to warm up to each other, sharing secrets. Even Alex has thawed out his tough bad boy persona and is sitting on the floor having a kind of slap fight with Hank’s feet. He can’t get over the fact that Hank’s feet are quicker than his hands, and he only needs one of them to hold Alex by both wrists. Even Armando is smiling, quietly. He can’t really get drunk- his mutation works against it; which is a real shame, Tony tells him. Cap had the same problem, according to Uncle Erik. It makes no sense to Tony. Alcohol was one of the things that helped you survive, in his opinion. Sean starts to laugh so hard, his glass breaks. Angel sighs, and helps mop it up, before Jarvis sees it on his return, and considers doing something terrible, like maybe frowning at Tony. 

Darwin is easily talked into showing off his mutation, drunk or sober. Where he leads, the others have to follow. Soon everyone’s showing off. Raven is flickering from face to face. Sean is breaking more- empty- glasses this time. Hank is dangling Alex from the rafters. Angles is hovering, and threatening Hank with acid, if he drops Alex too soon. It’s turning out to be the best party Tony’s ever been to. There’s a louder crash, from outside. Tony frowns, and looks up, to see what damage has been done. Erik is going to kill him if he finds out about the party. But no one is outside, they’re all in here, with him. The only thing that’s outside is the sea, and shadows. One of which flickers red, and then vanishes.

“Don’t be alarmed, my young friends.” Someone says, behind him. Tony whirls round to see Uncle Erik’s worst nightmare in the flesh.

 

 _Sebastian Shaw_  
Sebastian has been _waiting_ for this. For so many years, he has longed to find more mutants, strong ones with useful gifts. Letting little Erik slip through his fingers like that had been a mistake. One mutant attracts others; as he knows, being a mutant himself. It had taken him decades to find his three current weapons, decades to locate them and work them into a… reliable frame of mind. Decades, and he’s still not sure about the telepath. Well, she is a woman. They’re always less reliable. He’s glad he has the helmet, now. An extra piece of insurance. Emma won’t wear it herself, and he feels it would be unwise to make that an order so Sebastian will have to wear it instead. And here, his little Erik and his new friends have found six or seven potential tools for him. Gathered them together and then left them unguarded, just for him. How thoughtful. Not even the Stark boy’s metal guardian appears to be here. This _Charles Xavier_ had been on Sebastian’s radar for some time, writing about secrets the thoughtless way he had been doing. And when he had abruptly disappeared, Sebastian had been intrigued; had he vanished into some Government programme or struck out on his own? He’d sent Emma and Azazel to find out, and how that little effort had been repaid! A gentle exploration had led him here, to the Stark heir’s mansion, where there are so many mutants disporting themselves. 

The fact that they’re not under any obvious lock and key means Sebastian will have to tread more carefully than he wants to. Displays of raw power will not work, if they feel they can get away from him easily. Offers of wealth and power? It depends on how deeply this Stark has offered to enrich them if they work for him, he supposes. The Xaviers have little, according to the mind of their landlady. Doubtless little Erik will have clung to his rescuer’s coat tails, financially. They are alone; perhaps he can work with that. It had worked with Emma, it had worked with Janos. Far better than the rage and hate Sebastian had found he had need to unlock in Erik. They had all been alone, when he had found them, like this little array. Alone, and afraid of the cold, uncaring, normal masses, as benefited Sebastian best. And if they are not yet so afraid? He can make them fear. He will show them fear in the palm of his hand. Sebastian grins to himself, and signals to his own personal devil to move in.

Sebastian adjusts his cuffs, straightens his bowtie, and walks into the room. Azazel holds the door for him. He smiles, and, when his entrance appears to be ignored, among the shrieks and hilarity, creates a silence by slamming his heel onto the beautiful polished floor beneath his feet. The displaced kinetic energy he feeds into the impact causes a minor explosion, drawing all eyes and ears in the place to their rightful place; fixed on him.  
“Gentlemen!” he calls. “And… ladies.” He adds, eyeing the beautiful winged mutant, and the blue girl. Everyone stares, wide eyed. Sebastian takes a second to bask in the moment. He loves this. The fear, the awe… the chance to acquire more weapons... there is nothing like this in the world.  
“I apologise for my… abrupt arrival.” He starts, smiling, but before he can continue, Sebastian is interrupted. By an arrogant _child_  
“Yeah, you weren’t exactly invited, whoever you are” the Stark boy says. “And that’s _my_ floor you’ve just ruined.” He sounds petulant, angry, but Sebastian looks at him: pale and with the pulse beating far too fast in his throat. The boy is scared. Well, it’s to be understood. Sebastian glances at Janos, who responds with a whirlwind strong enough to knock the boy over. Sebastian stalks over to him, ignoring the other mutants still frozen in shock. Azazel has his back. He lays an outwardly gentle hand on young Anthony’s chest, pinning him down.

“Don’t interrupt me, boy.” He squawks and struggles amusingly. Sebastian lets him. “Your bodyguard’s not here to help you.” He leans just a _little_ more on the boy’s chest, and he goes white. “Not that he could.”  
“He might not be.” One of the other teens shouts. “But we are!” And he fires a burst of concussive energy at Sebastian as he rises. Sebastian keeps a foot on the fallen Stark, and he smiles, spreading his arms wide as he absorbs it.  
“Mm, delicious.” He purrs. They stare at him, horrified. Stark wriggles below him. Sebastian ignores him. The boy’s no mutant, as far as he can tell. He’s not relevant, anymore. One of the ageing masses, currently at the top of the heap, that’s all.  
“If we can avoid any more rudeness; I’ve to make you all an offer.”

“What kind of an offer?” the Negro asks. Sebastian frowns, slightly, but answers him anyway. He’s long since grown past the Nazi measurements of race and ability by appearance. The man’s’ skin colour is nothing besides his abilities. The blue girl frowns at Sebastian. He hopes her mutation is more than just for show; he has no place for weaklings or fools amongst his troops.  
“I’ve come to offer you all the chance to live as kings and queens.” He says, finally. They don’t react. “We mutants- we are the future. We deserve to be. Who wants to rule?” Silence greets his statement. Sebastian begins feel a little annoyed, they could at least _react_ to his generous opening. The young man in glasses is frowning.  
“Rule whom?” he says, finally. Sebastian smiles at him. He does so love a scientist.  
“Why, everyone.” He gestures, broadly. “And everything. Are you not afraid, weak, and outcast, alone? Join me and mine-“ He is interrupted, by Erik’s puling pet snorting loudly.  
“Yeah, right. And you’d rule us, am I right?” Sebastian carefully does not kick him.  
“You’re not a mutant, you have no voice here, _boy._ Be silent before your betters.” Janos shifts, uncertainly. Azazel glances at him, but they both remain silent when Sebastian stares at them.

“I know _you._ ” Stark remains defiant. “You sliced up Uncle Erik, when he was a kid, you were a Nazi! You just want us to be your slaves!” The boy is sneering. He has no real idea of the danger he’s in. Sebastian decides to _show_ him. A good display of power should awe his fellow mutants. They probably dislike this human boy as much as he does. He hauls the young man upright, and pulls him close, planning to crush or break a few parts off, when he makes the most delightful discovery. Tony Stark’s no mutant, but he is wearing a medical device for a heart.  
“What do you know of strength or slavery, _boy?_ ” He asks, plucking busily at Tony’s chest. The boy’s hands scrabble frantically, but Sebastian is, as always, stronger than any human.  
“Why, what’s this?” he makes a mock interested face as he pulls the heart device out into public view. The Stark boy goes limp, and grey, choking. “You pitiful cripple- you can’t even manage an ordinary human’s abilities without help can you?”  
“Leave him alone!” the blond one shouts, and demonstrates his lovely lack of genius by blasting Sebastian again. The shock causes him to drop Anthony, whilst holding onto the chest device. The wires snap. Tony falls like an abandoned puppet.  
“Well, children?” He says, brightly. “I’m _waiting._ ” He waggles the heart device at them, mock chidingly. The blond one glares. The Negro boy puts a restraining hand on his arm; he shakes it off. The blue girl clenches her fists. Azazel and Janos tense up, alert to any threats.

“Well, I think I’d like to know more, honey.” The winged mutant girl says. She walks towards him, carefully, sidestepping Janos. Sebastian moves away from the body as she comes to him. One of the boys hisses at her, she ignores him. She smiles, low and inviting, at Sebastian. He’s no fool- he can tell her display is for the power he’s shown, not for him, but still. One of the fish is sniffing the bait. He smiles at her; She is beautiful.  
“What do you want to know, beautiful?” One of her hands comes to rest on his arm, trembling slightly  
“You said, queens? How- what would that be?” Sebastian sees the gleam in her eye, and he knows. Here’s someone like he was. Someone hungry, someone who wants _more_ He wraps an arm around her. She smiles widely.  
“You want fame? The whole world will know you. You want money? You face could be on the coins.” He promises, gravely. “Why, you could have anything you ever wanted. _Anyone_.” Her face sharpens. Gently, she lays a hand on Stark’s chest device, still in Sebastian’s grasp.  
“And if I wanted him?” She jerks her head.  
“You could have any pets you wanted, as long as they _behave_. Once our rule is assured” Sebastian says, recklessly. 

He relinquishes the device into her hand. As she starts to withdraw from him, pulls her hand up to his mouth, and kisses it, seductively. He mouth twists, and she steps back, dropping the chest device on top of Stark. Sebastian feels gratified- she was interested in him alone, and what she could get from him. Fine. He could work with that. The delectable Ms Frost had been the same.  
“What’s your name?” he purrs. Her answering smile is stiff.  
“Angel.” There’s a flurry of movement; the young man in glasses is bent over young Anthony and fumbling with Stark’s device. Sebastian ignores it; the human’s no real threat except that he’s Erik’s.  
“A perfect name for a perfectly beautiful girl.” He assures her. He can’t quite interpret the look she gives him, as she steps away. Janos turns to him, and opens his mouth, but is silenced as Azazel gives a furious yell. 

“What is it now?” He snarls.  
“Frost!” Azazel yells back. “Something’s wrong.” Abruptly, Sebastian realises that with his helmet on, Emma likely can’t reach him. Well, that was the idea. Still, he needs events in Russia to have gone smoothly.  
“I’m sorry, my dear, we’ll have to talk about this some other time.” He says, to the winged mutant. Angel, her name is. He promises himself he’ll try and remember it. “Unless you want to come with us now?” Under other circumstances, her graceless scramble away from them all would be funny. As it is, Sebastian gestures curtly to Azazel, and they all vanish from the mansion. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shaw is a racist, ableist bastard, OK? Please be aware his opinions on anything are not shred by the author.
> 
> You know, before I posted this chapter, I was on an even 20000 words. This weas supposed to be _short_. Where are all the words _coming_ from?


	8. Chapter 8

Angel always knew she should have listened to her momma more. Not that her momma would have had much useful to say about crazy mutants busting in and trying to find volunteers to join in with their anarchic quest to rule the world, but hey. Momma was no fool. _Watch a sharp dressed man_ , she’d said. Watch how he treats his inferiors. _That’s how he’ll treat you, if he can_. Sharp dressed men have ways and means of staying sharp, and you don’t want to be their strop. Of course, Angel doesn’t have a mechanical heart to be yanked out of her chest, like little Tony, but she thinks it’s all still fitting. She just wishes some of the others would wise up. So she sweet talked the man instead of being violent; it got results, didn’t it? Tony isn’t dead, is he? They found her in a _strip bar_ , not a convent or the Army. She still got results.

Of course, once Tony tells her a little about the sharp dressed man in question; Angel can see why Erik’s afraid, and angry. Tony is all his family that’s still alive. The sharp dressed man- Shaw, Schmidt, whoever-the-hell-he-was, is Erik’s enemy from childhood. Hell, it took _Captain America_ and his pal, Ricky? Bucky? to get Erik out of his clutches alive, back when he was a kid. And now both of those heroes are dead, and all Erik’s got is a bunch of kids. And Charles, of course. Charles is ok, for a bookworm. Certainly, he’s the politest rich educated guy Angel’s ever come across. He doesn’t call her a gouger or a gold digger for doing what needed to be done. Unlike some people. He’s still respectful. Looks her in the eye, listens to her when she talks- if he weren’t obviously busy falling in love with Erik, Angel’d consider making a serious attempt at finding out what was under the tweed. She’s seen him run, and work out in Tony’s gym- the man had muscles as well as gentleness. But Erik got there first, and Angel wasn't going to tangle with that one, no siree.

Armando understands about working with what you’ve got, and he’s talking the more excitable Alex and Sean into understanding. Raven’s still standoffish, but then, that’s Miss Blue. Can’t work out if it’s what she’s got that makes her mad, or what she hasn’t. In any case, for a poor, misunderstood, oppressed mutant, girl’s expectations and attitude are pretty high. Angel blames Charles, and his comfortable way of living. Although that can hardly be compares to Tony’s way of living. Who else would have a back up mansion? It’s pretty decent, got water and electricity and hot and cold running labs and so on. Jarvis isn’t there; this mansion is up the mountains, and too much snow and cold is bad for the older man. Erik insists he take care of himself, so with Jarvis on holiday, everyone splits time between training and housework. Tony tried to get out of both, on the grounds that he wasn’t a mutant and couldn’t do housework. Angel had tried not to laugh. Erik’s face had gone all stony, and he’d simply said   
“Nice try. No.” 

And that had been that, although the succession of tiny robots and mechanical devices he’d then come up with to cook the dinner or dust or clean the bathroom so he didn’t have to had been pretty funny. At first. Then Angel had found one in her lingerie drawer, and however much Tony swore they’d been putting away laundry, they’d been mostly deactivated. So now, everything’s quiet, but tense- like when Big John had been at the whiskey, back at the club. Shaw was planning something, Charles says, something to do with nuclear bombs. He pulled it out some woman’s head, in Russia. Erik believes him, and so everyone’s’ training like there might not be a tomorrow. Hell, the whole world seems to have gone a little bit crazy. Missiles in Cuba, missiles in Europe- it’s like the generals and bigwigs in charge are too busy wanting to stay top dog to think about staying alive. ‘Course, most of them probably have bomb shelters like Tonys’ back up mansion. Although they probably don’t have an Alex blasting the hell out of everything in sight in there.

And Sean is learning to fly. Which is amazing; Angel never thought she’d see the day she got a fellow flyer to have fun with. He doesn’t have wings; boy gets all the lift he needs from yellin’. Which is cool. Especially after Erik makes Sean learn to fly by telling Nagel to drop him from midair. Angel always follows Erik’s orders; she’s no fool and the man is always a little scary, since he came home to find Tony- they all- had been attacked. It had shaken them all up. Angel is pretty sure she’s not the only one to have nightmares. The amount of times she gets up from her bad nights to find Erik and Charles chatting away over a late chess game, one of them’s gotta have a sleeping problem. She can't blame them.

Seems like everything's just building up to the main event.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short bt sweet. Charles POV of training, post-Russia.

Erik is beginning to scare Charles. Just a little. He’s always known that the other mutant is a driven and intense man. But since they got, not home, but back, from depositing a semi conscious and retrained Emma Frost with the CIA to find that Schmidt-Shaw had attacked the young people they’d left behind for safety’s sake, well. He’s been acting like a man possessed. Possessed by the terror that he might lose the last person he loves, maybe. He’s driving the younger ones, even Tony, as hard as he drives himself.

Tony had had to put up a vigorous argument to avoid being sidelined, for his own safety. He is the youngest of them, as Erik points out. Tony simply fires back that he’s also the wealthiest, and, seeing as Shaw had already yanked his heart out once, hiding will never be an option. Tony says, smiling, he thinks he’s probably safest nearest to the mutants he’s, y’know, funding. Tony then muses, audibly, on the difficulties or privatising world peace, while Erik does his level best not to melt every metal fixing with two miles.

Charles himself misses Cerebro. They can’t go looking for more mutants without it, and he’s feeling a tiny bit… sidelined by that. Of course, he doesn’t exactly missing the near-crippling migraines that using Cerebro sometimes caused, but still. He knows he and Raven have to be useful, if they want to stay. That’s the way of the world. It’s just that, with Erik in the mood he’s in, and the mood this tends to cause in the young ones, he’s not altogether sure that staying is what they really want to be doing, long term, however challenging the chess games are.

Still, there are things to be done; like talking Henry into taking his shoes off when he runs, or walking Sean through learning to fly. Charles is caught between horror and amusement when Angel- resourceful girl, very- simply drops the boy, mid flight, as Erik tells her to. Tony hadn’t even been suited up, let alone airborne; so Sean, faced with the choices of sink or swim, had swum, perfectly. Well, flown. Darwin, unfortunately, does not evolve wings, when Tony drops him- he evolves unbreakable bones and armour-tough skin. Although Darwin is apparantly eager to try deflecting repulsor blasts, both Erik and Charles tell Tony to go slow on that one.

Raven, now she’s wearing clothes again, is easier to deal with, for Charles, than she has been in _years_. And if it hadn’t been for the skills he’s had to learn, keeping out of her head, then staying out of Erik’s, and everyone else’s’ would be far more wearing for Charles than it currently is. As it is, as long as Charles remembers to sleep only in four hour bursts, or when the others are awake, why, he can hold himself away from everyone, easily. He tells Raven that, and her face falls. Charles feels guilty again- as a telepath he ought to be better at not hurting the people he loves, but at least she leaves it at that.

Erik does not.

Charles didn’t even _tell_ him, but this newly driven Erik seems capable of compelling truth out of stones, never mind Raven. Now Erik is pushing Charles, too, to extend himself, to reach out with his powers, instead of building bigger barriers. He doesn’t seem to understand that most people really don’t like the idea of Charles’ overhearing their thoughts. Erik insists on the group of mutants (and Moira, and Tony) learn to tolerate not only Charles’ powers, but Charles himself. Amazingly, it works.

It’s all very touchy-feely, or at least, it would be, if the person doing it was someone other than Erik Lensherr. Erik simply points out the benefits of a communication network no one can hack or jam. Also that he will hurt anyone who tries to make a mutant bury part of their gifts, simply because it offends their delicate sensibilities. Charles helps unlock Erik’s own powers further, with a memory. The look on Erik’s face as the old water tower hovers in mid air is something Charles tucks away for the cold days to come.

Erik’s memory- a golden snapshot from his childhood, from before the Herr Doktor, - is something else Charles tucks away for cold times to come. Erik’s memory is warmly precious to Charles, who, after all, has no affectionate memories of his mother. He feels quite miserly about it. Still, Erik has many other good memories. His _Kaptin Amerika,_ for example, or the first time Tony called him Uncle Erik. He won’t mind sharing this one. Charles hopes so, but doesn’t quite dare ask, in case Erik does mind. The chess games continue, anyway.

Soon enough they will all have to be ready. Soon enough they will have to make their first stand, against Shaw. They will stand together, for the world. For themselves. For each other. War is coming. The future is coming, and they’ll have to be ready.

Charles is surprised to note he’s mostly all right with that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Raven recall momentous events. Author makes a reference to Carl Sagan.

Well. So that happened. Turns out, Uncle Erik’s old enemy _was_ a mutant. And he had a lot more up his sleeve than just that. He had telepaths, some kind of energy redirector and a teleporter. And a windy guy. Tony would almost have been impressed, except the man had hurt Uncle Erik as a kid, and also tried to kill Tony himself, for being insufficiently awesome to deserve life. Not that Tony cared about the murder attempt; Obie had been smarter, and closer to Tony when he’d tried it. Obie was probably still smarter, despite being dead, than Schmitty was. Had been. Whatever. 

Who tries to conquer a world by getting the major powers in it to lob _nuclear missiles_ at each other? Hello, hadn’t the man worked out the amount of fine matter flung into the air would in all likelihood create some kind of nuclear winter? You didn’t have to be as clever as Tony’s pen pal Carl to see something like that would happen, besides the massive infrastructure damage and nuclear fallout everywhere. Schmidt might have wanted mutants to become kings and queens, but he’d been going about it in a way that indicated he hadn’t given much thought as to the historical period the new mutant monarchies would most resemble. Prehistoric. If they were lucky.

Really, Tony accepts that the burden of his genius, like the burden of his attractiveness, is a great and heavy one. But is it too much to ask for an enemy who can at least do basic math? And, as if that wasn’t enough, the whole heart-yanking-out thing had made Erik almost rabidly protective of Tony. He’d had to talk very fast to be allowed to train with the others, suited up, and he only got to go to Cuba because he could fly the plane. And owned the plane. Even then, it had been a near thing, until Charles spoke up for him.

Charles had been getting very twitchy around Erik. After Pepper talked Tony through his usual bout of possessive jealousy- Erik was _his_ family, after all- he was forced to concede, the man was acceptable. He was not dumb. He had a very pretty sister. And he listened to Erik, and made him smile, when they played chess. The Brit was a little too self effacing, for having an awesome mutant power like telepathy, but Tony liked him. He kept Hank busy, too. Yeah, Tony was willing to give Charles and Erik his very important blessing, and the keys to the honeymoon suite.

Speaking of dumb people, there were a lot of them in power within the USSR and USA generally. Tony thought something needed doing about that, long term. Stark Industries sadly had far less clout at a Government level, now they no longer made weapons. He’d probably have to but some lobbyists, or a Senator, or something, in the US. As for Eurpoe and the USSR, he had no idea where to start.

This lack of influence had been, ah ha ha, _starkly_ apparent when the ships had turned their guns on the beach, after Xavier wiped Shaw’s mind of everything past the first year of the bastards’ life. He’d been drooling and, well, crying, like the baby he’d become, and Erik had looked venomously, sickly, satisfied. Which was a relief. After Tony had been attacked, he’d been worried that Uncle Erik was preparing to become some kind of murderer- something Cap or Bucky would probably have hated. He’d been thinking he had to talk to Erik about that, and he hadn’t wanted to.

Then Charles and Erik had had a shouting match. Charles was looking terrible. Erik had obviously been infected by Shaw’s crazy, because he’d stolen his shiny hat, and tried to threaten two navies with their own weapons, for trying to wipe out him and his family. And he hadn’t just meant Tony, then, either. Tony’d had to point out that he’d just be finishing Shaw’s job for him, in that case. Tony’s wise words, and Charles’ flat-out begging had held Erik back long enough for Moira to sort some stuff out. Long enough for Charles to practically fry his brain overwriting the fleet commanders’ orders, to send them all home, safely. Long enough for the windy guy to start shooting at them. Erik had brushed the bullets away without breaking a sweat. And one had ricocheted, and cut Charles down.

The rockets had hit the sea seconds later.

 

 

Raven isn’t quite sure how they all got here. Here being the “Xavier-Stark Institute of Learning for the Future.” Most of them were recruited by the CIA to fight evil. When did they agree to becoming teachers? What part of saving the world for mutants and humans is covered by teaching Scott not to eat paste, or telling Jean she’s still pretty even if she’s not the only special girl at the school? At this school, Tony says, everyone’s special. And Erik agrees with him, and no one argues with the scary foreign languages teacher, except the Phys Ed guy, and Logan is a crazy dude, anyway.

Still, here they all are. Tony’s here to teach the engineering classes only, he says, although he sneaks into other classes and sits at the back when Erik’s not watching. It’s kinda cute. Tony hadn’t enjoyed school all that much, so he’s determined his school is going to be the best. In everything fun, anyway. Why else would he put the jet plane parking under the _swimming pool_? Angel’s here to teach Spanish, and chemistry. 

Hank’s here to teach science, and research until he passes out, fairly equally. At least Raven can make sure he eats. Moira isn’t always here, but she comes for a rest, whenever she and Sean are sick of the CIA. Alex and Darwin are here because they’re raising Scott- apart from paste eating prevention, that’s totally Raven’s call- and there’s nowhere else they’d be able to do that. Yet.

If it hadn’t hurt Charles so much, Raven would be overjoyed. Things that had seemed impossible before Cuba had become possible. And all it had taken had been Charles’s right leg. Tony’s built him a new one of course, and he calls himself Cyborg X, or Professor Cyborg, if he’s in teaching mode, but still. He was hurt, and it was his boyfriend’s fault. It’ll be a long time before she forgives him, whatever Charles says.

Between Tony’s lobbying, and Charles and Erik and Moira’s dancing with the CIA, the FBI, and a whole alphabet soup of agencies, (SHIELD? Really, that’s a name now?), there’s a new wave rising in the land of the free and the home of the brave. Tolerance. Trust. Equality. People are going around being goddamn reasonable at each other. Raven went shopping blue, the other day, and all the shop assistants did was make sure that her colours matched.

Maybe one day, soon, Erik can make an honest man out of her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's almost all, folks. _Almost_


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue- Something Under The Ice is Thinking.

Discovery  
"Erik… there’s something very strange here.”  
“What?” The searching for new mutants will never be old for Erik, whatever tweaks and twitches Tony and Hank have put into this new Cerebro.  
“A mind.. not awake, not asleep.. Cold …it’s very cold.” Charles frowns, his face briefly losing the dazzled and ecstatic visionary gaze Erik likes to watch.  
“A mutant? A human?” Whoever is making Charles frown, Erik vows, should be located and dealt with asap.  
“I don’t know, I don’t know. Something. Something…” Charles' right leg beeps, and he shifts, absently.

Charles makes a vague gesture that could mean “I cannot put this into words for non-telepaths” or could mean “The flight path of the African swallow” in stage sign language. It’s hard to tell. McCoy is muttering at the print out.  
“These co-ordinates can’t be right! They’re practically in the Arctic Circle!” He hands them to Erik to double check. as Charles continues to search and listen, face twisted with the intensity of his effort. Erik reads the numbers, blinks, and reads them again. He _knows_ those figures. When Cap’s plane crashed, he must have checked the projected co-ordinates again and again with Howard. They’d searched and searched, but never found anything. He clears his throat.   
“I think… I think we need to go there. Now.” Charles startles, and yanks off the helmet to look at him. God knows what he’s reading from him.

_Discovery II_

Erik clears his throat has he gazes and the frost covered face of his long ago saviour. He brushes the iced hair out of Steve’s sleeping face, only to wince as some of it breaks off, brittle, in the fearsome cold. “It’s him… It’s really him.”  
“Captain America?” Charles is being very gentle. He flicks a look at Tony, and Tony hurries out of the ice cave, dragging McCoy along. Erik ignores them.  
“Bucky found me, he and Steve saved me. Howard and I looked for so long. Now we’ve found him. We’ve found Steve.” Erik blinks away something that is definitely not a tear.

It’s strange, seeing Steve again. It’s been so long, so much has happened since. He had been a golden giant, a god to the terrified youngster Erik had been. The young Erik had been so sure no one could be ever braver, taller, or stronger than Kaptain Amerika. Now, although this is still true, Erik can see how young Steve had been. He looks scarcely older than Tony. Perfectly preserved in the ice.

Tony and Hank hurry back in, Beast carrying bags and a stretches, Tony with foil blankets. McCoy brushes straight past Erik and Charles, reaching for Steve with one large gloved paw.   
“What are you doing?” Erik protests. Steve did so much for the world before; so much for Erik. He should be allowed to lie in peace, not be pawed about by scientists again. Charles rests a hand on his shoulder. Erik stares. Charles is smiling.  
“Erik, he’s alive.”   
Erik stares. Surely Charles cannot mean… “I can hear his mind. It’s sleeping, not dead. He’s alive.”

 

_Awakening_

It’s been dark and cold for so long. He hasn’t been in pain, precisely. The numb chill and the half sleep have been all there is; as far as he knows the whole world is ice. Ice and silence and void. No one else is with him. Alone, he has come to trust the dark and the stillness. There has been no time to pass. But now it’s all ebbing away. Time is melting, thawing, and letting in light. Now there are regular periods of dark and light. He watches them flicker past, without fear. As he grows closer to the world, he is somehow aware he is asleep, only partially aware of himself and his surroundings. The dark is comforting in its steady returns. The light brings with it shadows and voices who come and go.   
He knows he is not cold and alone anymore.

Steve Rogers opens his eyes.

The room he sees is puzzling. It’s not a hospital ward- the absence of white paint and disinfectant seem to rule that out, but he’s sure not in the barracks, either. There’s a steady, regular wheezing noise he can’t identify, even with super soldier hearing. Panelled wood and antique furniture meet his bewildered gaze wherever he looks. He rolls onto his side- which seems harder to do than usual- and realises- is he in a four poster bed?- realises that this room, however stately, has only recently been put back into use. The traces of dust, the gleam on the furniture all show signs of hasty, not quite complete cleaning. His eyes narrow. This had better not be some kind of Hydra trick.

Across the room, he spots the source of the wheezing. A tall man, with harsh features unsoftened even in sleep, is leaning his head on his hand and dozing. Steve watches the half familiar face, fascinated. He can see the man’s elbow is slowly inching off the arm of the chair he’s resting in. Any minute now, he’ll be jerked awake. Any minute… now!  
“Where am I?” His voice cracks. The man jumps, as he realises Steve is not only awake, but responsive and talking. The sleeper opens silvery light eyes that are unbearably familiar to Steve. Maybe he knows Erik, or maybe they’ve found some of his family since… since when? How long has he been asleep? 

_“Kaptin Steve?”_ He sounds almost like he used to, breathless with hope and disbelief both.  
“Erik?” It can’t be, Erik’s a boy still, not a man like this, older than Steve himself, no, no, _no_... Erik reaches for a carafe, pours water into a metal cup and floats it towards him. It’s kind of a clue Steve can’t ignore, however much he wants to. Steve thinks he may be panicking. His eyes have gone blurry and he’s pretty sure his pulse is racing. He fumbles for the cup, which nestles into his hand and guides itself to his dry mouth. The water is cool, not cold, and good. Steve notices, almost distantly, that he’s not really holding it anymore. His hand is shaking too much.

 _(Please calm down, my friend.)_   
“Huh?” Steve is almost certain he’s not hearing this new voice with his ears.  
 _(Please calm down._ ) Steve feels a wash of warm, gentle reassurance take hold of him.   
“Where am I?” Steve manages, out loud.  
The silent voice and the man in the room answer as one, which feels very strange.  
 _(You’re safe)_ the silent voice says, as Erik says “In a friendly house. In the USA." He pauses, and adds. "It's one of Howards' places”   
Steve’s fairly sure his eyes cross, but this grown up Erik seems to realise what’s happening. He shouts “CHARLES!” at the ceiling, for some reason, and the silent voice shuts up. Steve feels even more bewildered. 

“Sorry, Kaptin. Charles’s house. He’s a telepath with _no patience_.” He says the last part slightly louder, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Steve decides to let that go for now.  
“You’ve grown, son. How long was I...? What happened?”  
“Years, it’s been years. We thought you were dead.” He’s still explaining. “We looked and looked for you, but… there was too much ice.” His eyes are too bright, and Steve tries to ignore the sheen of tears by struggling to sit up. Erik drags the pillows into a heap for him, blinking. “We tried to find you, I _swear_.” He looks desperately at Steve, as if willing him to understand. Steve can see shades of the boy he was in the man’s face before him.  
“Hey, hey, kiddo, it’s OK. I believe you. And look, you succeeded. I’m here.” He smiles. Erik stumbles towards him, drags him into a hug so fierce Steve’s pretty sure he’d have cracked ribs, if not for Dr Erskine’s serum. He passes a hand over Erik’s hair, wonderingly. “I’m still here.”

“Yes.” Erik chokes out. “You are.” There is silence for a moment. Then, thoughtfully, Steve says  
“So… What’s a telepath? Who’s president? And did Howard ever manage to build that damn flying car he’s always talking about? Care to fill me in, kiddo?” Erik laughs. It’s a little wild, but it’s a good sound to Steve’s ears. He can’t recall hearing Erik laugh quite like that, before.  
“Well…” he starts. Steve leans back and starts to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, that's it, on a another story. One less WIP. Did you like it? Let me know!


End file.
